Black Water
by It Belongs In A Museum
Summary: High school. It's difficult enough to navigate on its own. When Charlie Oswin moved to Beacon Hills to live with her aunt after the death of her father, she thought the worst she'd have to deal with was gossip and term papers. But something weird was going on and those two strange guys were at the center of it all. And she was going to figure it out. Eventual Stiles/OC.
1. The Last First Day

**Hi guys! Here's another Stiles/OC fic for you to read and (hopefully) enjoy. It's going to be of the UST variety and will be filled with humor, sarcasm, heart-warming moments, and an appropriate serving of angst. Just FYI, the interactions with Stiles are going to be a little slow in the beginning. They are gradually going to be introduced through a series of encounters, and then they're going to start associating with each other a lot and become good friends, but the first few chapters are going to be a little Stiles-light. But I assure you, they will be hanging out a LOT in the future.  
**

**I want to start out by saying while writing this story I have been heavily inspired by BrittWitt16 who wrote the incredible Stiles/OC story called 'The Wild Side'. I would like to think that I came up with my ideas for relationship characterizations completely independently, but as I have read and really love that story, I am fairly certain I have been influenced by her vision (which is freaking awesome!).**

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

Chapter One – The Last First Day

This day was going on record as one of the worst days of her life. She was making a judgment call. It might seem a bit premature to make that sort of assessment given that she had yet to actually get out of bed, but Charlie Oswin was never one for dancing around the subject or going back and forth on an issue. Nope, she was calling it. This day was going to suck. Because today was the first day of school.

Charlie had never liked the first day of school, ever since she was a kid. Usually it was because it meant starting everything over again—beginning new classes, getting used to new teachers, being forced to make new friends. With the beginning of each new year, the previous one was erased, like it might as well have not even happened. The entire process was exhausting—hazard of having a parent in the Coast Guard. Life was always in flux.

There was one constant, though. One thing that stayed the same no matter what city they were in or what school she was about to start. Her dad. Every morning on the first day of school she would wake up to the smell of banana pancakes, wander from her room to the kitchen and find her dad dancing around to 'The Rolling Stones' in the most embarrassing way imaginable possible in that novelty apron of his with the words 'I Fish Therefore I Drink' emblazoned across it. She would tell him he was an idiot and then he would grab one of her arms and pull her into some weird swing dance step that didn't fit at all with the rhythm of the music. It was a ritual that never failed to make her roll her eyes and that she would never admit out loud that she loved. And that's what made today one of the worst days of her life. Because as she fell asleep the previous night, she knew that she wouldn't be smelling banana pancakes when she woke up in the morning.

A small part of Charlie had hoped that she could pull a Rip van Winkle and just sleep through the rest of high school. It was a lovely dream. She wouldn't have to start her sophomore year, she wouldn't have to start the entire process all over again—she could just float away on a cloud of oblivion. But that little fantasy bubble she had built up for herself was completely destroyed when the jarring strains of 'Girl's Just Wanna Have Fun' came blaring out of her phone.

Groaning loudly, Charlie managed to extricate one of her arms from the tangled mess of covers and felt around in the dark until her fingers finally closed around her cell where it lay on her bedside table. Not bothering to look at the name flashing across the screen, she hit random buttons until one of them happened to be the 'mute' key. Smiling slightly as the music was cut short, she grabbed hold of her deep purple comforter and yanked it over her head, fully prepared to shut out the rest of the universe. The universe, though, didn't seem to be on board with that plan as it took less than a minute for the phone to start ringing again.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me."

Charlie flipped over and screamed into her pillow before finally throwing off the covers and sitting up in bed. She grabbed the phone and looked at the little clock in the upper right-hand corner. It read 6:34 a.m. Un-freaking-believable. Grumbling to herself, Charlie angrily punched the 'send' button and held the phone up to her ear. Before she could get a single word out, a voice chirped through the receiver that was way too energetic for that early in the morning.

"Charlotte Felicia Oswin," the overly enthusiastic and slightly accusatory voice shouted, "it's time to get your adorable, lazy ass out of bed!"

"That's not my middle name," Charlie muttered into the phone, wiping the sleep out of her eyes and yawning widely.

"Yeah, I really don't care," the voice replied abruptly. "And it doesn't change the fact that we've got a lot of work to do before we head out this morning."

Charlie groaned and collapsed back on the bed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Lydia, what's my one rule?"

"Don't mess with your Converse or you'll stage a bonfire and use my Jimmy Choo's as kindling," the voice drawled out. Charlie could practically hear the eye-roll from over the airwaves.

"Okay," Charlie continued, nodding slightly. "What's my other one rule?"

Lydia sighed theatrically from the other side of the phone, leaving Charlie with the mental image of her making her 'patronizing' face while dutifully inspecting her fingernails. "Lydia," Charlie prompted, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

"Okay, fine," Lydia bit out reluctantly. "The other 'one rule' is not to wake you up before 7:00 a.m. or you'll sneak into my room and shave my head in the middle of the night."

"Exactly," Charlie replied with a perfunctory nod. "You're risking your glorious, silky, strawberry blonde locks by talking to me right now. You're not Natalie Portman and not everybody can pull off bald. For all we know you've got a globular, misshapen skull trying to contain that giant brain of yours. You would probably look like an over-grown fetus."

"You know, they say that violence is never the answer," Lydia sighed loudly.

"Yeah?" Charlie muttered. "The person who said that was probably bullied as a kid. I'm pretty sure the violence worked pretty well for the bullies. They got free lunches for their entire school career."

"Well today's the exception to your thinly veiled anger management issues," she shot back, steely determination coloring her tone. "It's the first day of school, and you've got to make a good first impression. The first day sets the tone for the whole year, and I, for one, would rather keep my position on the top of the social pyramid, thank you very much."

"That's all fine and good," Charlie mumbled into the receiver, "but I'm tired and I could give exactly half of two shits about first impressions."

"Well that attitude's fine if you want to be one of those weird, arty kids who smoke weed behind the bleachers during their lunch period," Lydia said through a loud scoff, "but believe it or not, Charlie, this day isn't just about you. Seeing as I've been so magnanimous as to take you under my wing, you are now a reflection upon me."

"You might want to be careful using the big words like 'magnanimous'," Charlie drawled out dryly. "Otherwise one of these days somebody might actually figure out how decidedly 'un-stupid' you are. Though you might want to stop inhaling so much hairspray if you want to stay that way."

There was a short pause during which Charlie imagined herself on the receiving end of a 'melt-your-face-off' death glare. "I'll be over in fifteen minutes with scones and coffee," she replied bluntly, not allowing for any argument. "Make sure you're out of bed by the time I get there." Charlie opened her mouth to argue, but before she could get a word out she was confronted with an unceremonious clicking noise as Lydia hung up on her. Well that settled that. She should have known better than to even attempt arguing with Lydia. Once that girl set her mind to something, all obstacles to the desired result were systematically and efficiently destroyed.

Swearing under her breath, Charlie threw back the covers and flopped out of bed, nearly face-planting on the floor as one of her feet got tangled in the sheets, and flipped on the lights, looking around her room for all of the tools necessary to prepare for her first day. If she had been in Lydia's room, she would have been confronted with an aggressive neatness—a closet organized by clothing type, style, and color, a beautiful jewelry box overflowing with the newest designs, and a freaking assembly line of hair care products and makeup placed in a neat row on her vanity. It was so definitively feminine, and so definitively Lydia.

Her room, though, that was a different story. She wasn't sure what her room said about her yet. She had moved from San Diego into her Aunt Melody's house just over a month ago, she had found the perfect color, she had put up all her posters—The Who, The Black Keys, the original Tron movie, and the random Casablanca movie poster— she had hung her old curtains with the twisted, elaborate vine design on them. She had even unpacked her mom's old 1967 Gibson J-45 guitar—the only tangible evidence her mother had ever actually existed other than that pile of stamp-covered birthday cards in the old cigar box under her bed. The guitar was lovingly situated on its stand in the far corner of the room next to the trunk filled with sheet music and her ever-growing collection of picks. All of the elements were there, but the room still didn't feel like it belonged to her. Maybe it was that one last box that remained unopened. It was the one with all of her dad's things. She hadn't brought herself to unpack that yet.

Yawning for what felt like the twentieth time in the space of five minutes, Charlie wandered over to her closet and wrenched out the first things she could find—an artfully ripped-up T-shirt with 'The Clash' proudly spelled across the front, a pair of simple black shorts, a black leather jacket, and her green Converse. Lydia was probably going to throw a fit, but that would have happened under pretty much any circumstances. After chucking her clothes on her bed, she made a beeline to the bathroom and hopped in the shower.

After a few minutes of frantic scrubbing, she turned off the water, pulled the curtain aside, and wrapped one of those magnificently fluffy, white towels around her. Moving to the mirror, she wiped away the layer of condensation the steam had left on the surface and stared at her reflection. The face staring back was long and thin with a straight nose, thin lips and pale skin, covered with a light splattering of freckles, framed by a tangle of long, dark brown hair left stringy by the water still clinging to it. That wasn't what Charlie was focusing on, though. What she focused on was the eyes. They were big and blue, framed with thin, but dark lashes, and they had a sort of hollow look to them. Empty. They used to have small lines at the corners from smiling, but those had smoothed out over the past few months. She hadn't been smiling all that much lately. But then again she hadn't cried since it happened either, however screwed up as that might seem. No, all in all the girl looking back at her in that mirror didn't look happy or sad. She looked resigned. She looked broken.

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Charlie took a step back from the mirror and began vigorously drying her hair with the towel. The mirror was a liar. She was fine. Really, she was. There was a small nagging voice in the corner of her mind reminding her of the fact that her dad used to say fine was a four-letter word, but that was irrelevant. Because she _was_ fine. And she wasn't broken, she was mending. And you know what they say about broken bones—when they heal they're stronger than they were in the first place. Charlie moved towards the bathroom closet and wrapped herself in a plush robe, padding down the stairs towards the kitchen.

"Good morning!" a cheerful voice greeted her as she entered the kitchen. "Coffee?"

Aunt Mel stood at the kitchen island, a wide smile plastered over her face and holding up a steaming pot of coffee. Charlie exhaled sharply and nodded. Of course she wanted coffee. Her body was calling out for caffeine. She perched herself on one of the stools on the opposite side of the island while Aunt Mel grabbed a mug and filled it with the steaming hot liquid. Charlie let out a sigh and reached eagerly across the counter, snatching it and clutching to her desperately like she was Gollum getting his hands on the ring of power again.

Note to self: she had to get the Lord of the Rings references out of her system before Lydia showed up. That would make for an awkward conversation.

Charlie held the mug up to her face and breathed in deeply, savoring the smell, and took a long sip.

"I can't believe you drink the stuff black," Mel said, wrinkling her nose slightly. "It's so bitter."

Charlie shrugged and took another long sip. "Dad always said it gave you strength of character. He said it was based on the same principle as going to the gym—do something uncomfortable and acclimatize yourself to it, and you win. I never knew what the hell it was I was winning and honestly I thought it was a bit idiotic, but I did it anyway."

Mel let out a light, musical laugh and shook her head, sending her well-coiffed blonde hair flying about. "And what your father didn't tell you was that every morning before work he would stop by Starbucks and get a mocha frappuccino before work."

"Oh, I knew," Charlie said, a small smirk covering her face. "He would always forget the cups in the car and I would clean them out. They would always have the name 'Charlotte' written on the side. He used to pretend that he was buying them for me—men and their egos. I never told him I knew, though. He probably would have died of embarrassment."

Aunt Melody winced slightly and turned back to making her breakfast smoothie, making Charlie immediately regret the turn of phrase. In some ways, this whole thing was harder on her than it was on Charlie herself. Not only had she lost her big brother, but she had also gotten stuck with his socially maladjusted offspring. For someone on the younger side of thirty and who had only just opened her own high-end boutique and launched her first clothing line the year before, that was a lot to deal with. Still, she managed it with style, sincere kindness, and effortless grace. Half the time Charlie thought the woman was a reincarnation of one of those glamorous 1940s actresses like Greta Garbo or Ingrid Bergman. Charlie had missed out on that little genetic gem. She was more prone to bitter sarcasm and an inexplicable tendency to trip over anything and everything that lay in her path.

"Do you want some of the smoothie?" Mel called out over her shoulder. "All the articles I've read say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. If you want to be able to focus in your morning classes, you should eat something healthy."

"The 'Frosted Mini-Wheats' commercial is not a scientific article," Charlie replied drolly, taking another inelegant gulp of her coffee.

Mel sighed and turned around to look at Charlie with a chastising expression on her face. "Look," she said, brandishing a stirring spoon, "I know that sarcasm is one of your basic personality traits—you share that much with your dad—but I'd appreciate it if you waited till at least 10:00 a.m. to get started."

"Sorry," Charlie said, holding her hands up in submission. "Sarcasm-free zone. No sarcasm here."

"I know you were a straight A student in San Diego," Mel said, fixing Charlie with a serious stare. "I just want to make sure that nothing slips while you're adjusting to your new living situation. This is a big transition for you, and I just want to make sure that your grades don't suffer as a result."

"I have no intention of letting my grades suffer," Charlie said in an equally serious tone. "I'm academically paranoid, remember?"

Mel pressed her lips together in a thin line and gave a single, approving nod. "Good. So do you want any of the smoothie or not?"

Charlie shook her head, sending her still-wet hair flying and making it stick to the side of her face. "No thanks. Lydia's bringing scones and the satchel of medieval torture devices she calls her makeup kit to make me presentable for the day."

"Oh, that's great," Mel replied brightly. "You know, I'm so glad that you have such a good friend living just across the street. I think she'll really be able to help you adjust."

"I have done this before, you know," Charlie mumbled into her mug. "I've switched schools like four times in the past six years."

"Yes, but this is the last time you're going to be starting a new school before you head off to college," Mel continued in a reasoning tone. "I think it's fantastic that you have Lydia to show you around and introduce you to new people. I think it's going to be really good for you."

Charlie bit her lip and nodded, staring absently into the mug of coffee still clutched in her hands and watching the steam dance in front of her face. She knew that Mel was ecstatic about her finding a friend in Lydia, and she was also pretty sure that was because it meant that Mel and Charlie might have more in common than either of them originally thought. The two of them were so different, Charlie being able to bond with someone who was interested in fashion, keeping up with the current styles, and that kind of thing might mean something for the parent-child relationship they were being forced into. Not that her and Lydia's relationship could be described as your typical friendship. In fact, it was anything but. The two of them hardly ever agreed on anything and they bickered all the time, but they entertained each other. It had been that way since their first encounter.

Thinking back to that first meeting with Lydia, Charlie smiled and rolled her eyes. It had been a little over a week after Charlie arrived in Beacon Hills. She had mostly kept to herself, moving in her stuff, reading that list of classics the English teacher at her last high school had given her, plucking out some compositions on her guitar—all the basic hobbies that could be performed on your own. Really the only times she had gone out were to look for room furnishings or on her evening runs. Charlie had never been the most social of people—moving around as much as she did, she had come to view most relationships as temporary—but that wasn't why she was isolating herself. She wanted to avoid 'the conversation'. It would start out with the usual 'hello' and 'how are you' and then it would move into the typical 'so why did you move to Beacon Hills', and what was her response so that supposed to be? Would she just smile toothily and say 'well it turns out my dad had this massive aneurism he didn't bother telling me about, it exploded like an over-filled water balloon, and now I live with my aunt #sadface'? That was a real conversation-starter, because the best relationships were always forged on pity.

Anyways, apparently it wasn't up to her to initiate the conversation because one day there had been a knock at the door and she opened it to find a perfectly manicured red-head standing there with a wide, slightly calculating smile. A smile which faltered slightly when she had looked Charlie up and down, finding her in worn, faded jeans, and a T-shirt that simply read 'People Like Grapes', with no makeup other than those two dramatic smudges of eyeliner, ragged fingernails, hair pulled back in a messy bun, and smudges of paint from her new room on her face.

"Oh!" she had chirped with surprise and maybe a little bit of disappointment. "Are you Charlotte Oswin? Melody's niece?"

"Yes," Charlie had replied hesitantly, narrowing her eyes at the girl. "I go by Charlie, though."

"Oh! Great! Well, I'm Lydia Martin. I live across the street, and I'm in your aunt's shop all the time. I just wanted to welcome you to Beacon Hills." She extended a hand which Charlie took reluctantly, giving it a firm shake. Then Lydia had just stood there, staring at her appraisingly and giving Charlie the distinct impression that she was an amoeba under a light microscope.

"Is there something I can help you with?" she remembered asking defensively, folding her arms across her chest and leaning against the doorframe.

"It's nothing," Lydia said, waving her hand dismissively. "It's just—knowing your aunt I expected you to be a bit different."

Charlie let out a loud scoff and raised her eyebrows. "Different how?"

"Well…." Lydia drawled out, "to be honest I was expecting something a little less 'alternative'. Your aunt's pretty glamorous, and you kind of look like a moderately stylish women's studies major."

"And you look like the female cast of 'Mean Girls' had a freaky four-way and produced a weird, hybrid baby," she shot back sarcastically. "What the hell does that matter?"

Normally Charlie would have expected the person on the receiving end of her angry, sarcastic outbursts to get all offended and storm off in a huff. That's how things usually went. Not this time around, though. This time around, Lydia had stared at her evenly for a few moments before her face split into a wide smile. "You know what," she had said, pointing a finger at Charlie, "I kind of like you. We're going to be friends." And then without another word she had spun on her heel and marched back across the street to the palatial estate that she called her house.

"I'm pretty sure I get a say when determining the status of our relationship!" Charlie had shouted after her.

She was met with a gleeful and mischievous laugh. "It's adorable that you think that."

And that had been that. Afterwards, Lydia had made it her mission to turn Charlie into the most socially acceptable version of herself possible, or at least as close as she was willing to get to socially acceptable. Apparently it was alright to look like you didn't care about your appearance as long as it was carefully orchestrated and you paid a crapload of money to look that way. Then there were the introductions. Charlie had kind of felt like a puppet, being steered around and presented to half the lacrosse team like she was on auction. At least the fact that most of them couldn't construct a coherent sentence meant that she didn't have to talk to them. Except for Greenburg. That guy wouldn't shut the hell up. He talked more and said less than anybody she had ever met.

Ultimately, the next couple of weeks had ended up being her and Lydia doing excessive amounts of shopping with occasional cameos made by Lydia's boyfriend Jackson and her co-third-wheel Danny—Jackson's best friend. As for how she felt about those two…she wasn't quite sure. Danny was all kinds of awesome—clever, funny, sincere, and generally nice unless you pissed him off. Which was why she couldn't fully wrap her mind around his friendship with Jackson. Jackson—he was a dick. There was no getting around that fact. The only question was whether or not he had enough redeeming characteristics to compensate. Every once and while when he was talking with Lydia or Danny, she could see something human trying to claw its way out, but the next instant he seemed to shove it away again. Long story short, Charlie was still on the fence about that one, and she was fairly certain he felt the same way about her. The two of them had one thing in common—they didn't take crap from anybody, least of all each other. It made for some entertaining, albeit contentious interactions.

If Charlie was being honest, she was glad she had met Lydia—not that that was something she would ever admit out loud. At first she had thought Lydia was that typical shallow, entitled, pretty, rich girl stock character that seemed to exist in every city she had lived in over the past few years. In many ways that assessment was true. That Lydia was both pretty and rich was completely indisputable. That she was entitled was a product of those first two characteristics. The sticking point was in the assessment of her shallowness. Because in many ways she was shallow—her preoccupation with clothing and social status was evidence enough of that. But if you were paying the slightest bit of attention, it would become quickly apparent that Lydia was also possibly the most insanely intelligent person Charlie had ever come across in her entire life. Not that Lydia wanted people to notice that—and most didn't because they didn't bother looking for it. Which, in Charlie's opinion, was a shame.

All of the sudden, a knock at the door broke Charlie out of her reverie. Downing the rest of her coffee and slamming her mug down on the counter, Charlie walked towards the entrance, enjoying to cool feeling of the tile against her bare feet and mentally preparing herself for the drama that would ensue. Because with Lydia there was always drama, whether it came in the form of a strong breeze or a freaking hurricane.

Before Charlie could even get the door fully open, Lydia breezed through, thrusting a paper bag into her hands. "There's breakfast," she said, brushing her hair over her shoulder casually. She stopped for a moment and looked Charlie up and down, her eyes lingering on the damp hair and unmade face. "Yeah," she sighed out in a patronizing tone, patting Charlie on the shoulder. "We've got some work to do."

Grabbing hold of Charlie's hand, she yanked her friend back up the stairs to her room, pausing for about half a second to wave hello to aunt Mel. Once they made it in, Lydia paused, looking at the rumpled pile of clothes. She pursed her lips in thought and glanced between Charlie and the clothes a few times, a look of intense concentration on her face. "Okay," she said with a special sort of determination. "Okay, I can work with this."

"We're not brokering a Palestinian-Israeli peace treaty, Lydia," Charlie said, rubbing absently at her forehead. "We're choosing clothes. Let's calm down."

"The clothes make the man, Charlie," Lydia chided. "Naked people have little or no influence on society."

"Oh, come on," Charlie whined loudly. "Don't go quoting Mark Twain at me. It's way too early for that."

Lydia threw one of her hands in the air, cutting her off. "Silence! Let the master do her work."

Lydia moved around the room, rummaging through the drawers and yanking out different articles of clothing, holding them up and judging their appropriateness. Charlie sat at her desk chair and nibbled on one of the scones, watching the entire process. It was kind of like a wildlife documentary where the mother lion goes around foraging for food for her helpless infant. Charlie wasn't exactly comfortable being the baby lion in this scenario, but there weren't many other ways to describe the situation.

"Alright," Lydia said finally, laying everything out on the bed. "Come and take a look at this."

Sighing heavily, Charlie hauled herself to her feet and surveyed the work. Lydia had kept the Clash T-shirt and leather jacket, but paired it with a waist-high black leather skirt, grey tights, and a pair of black ankle boots. "There," she said, waving her hand over the ensemble like she was blessing it with a magic wand or sprinkling holy water on it or something. "You get to have your pseudo rocker chick, 'I don't really give a crap' vibe, and I don't have to be embarrassed by you."

"That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," she mumbled, shoving the rest of the scone in her mouth and chewing loudly.

"You're welcome!" She spun on her heel to face Charlie. "Now what were you planning on doing for makeup?"

Charlie groaned loudly and rocked back on her heels. "Shit, Lydia, I don't know. Mascara?"

Lydia gaped at her, her mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. "Mascara?" she demanded, raising her eyebrows in disbelief. "Did you actually just say 'mascara'? As in 'just mascara'? Have you learned nothing from the time we've spent together?"

Charlie blew out a long breath and shrugged her shoulders. "What? I was raised by a single dad."

"By a single dad! Not by wolves!"

Charlie rolled her eyes and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. "Look, I can play pool, fix up my car, and I kick ass at Ultimate Frisbee. I didn't really get any makeup tutorials, and honestly the last time you came at me with an eyelash curler I thought you were trying to extract my eyeballs to sell them on the black market."

Pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, Lydia let out a sigh that sounded like a parent dealing with a child on a sugar rush. "You are unbelievable." She cleared her throat and turned to face her, clearly slipping into 'teacher mode'. "Okay, Charlie, I'm only going to explain this to you once. I'm going to teach you how to be a girl."

"Great!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together with feigned eagerness. "Be my Yoda."

"Okay, one," she said, holding out a finger. "No more Star Wars references. Take Yoda, Harrison Ford, and that big furry thing that yells all the time and lock them in a closet at the back of your mind."

"I'm going to ignore that one, but keep going."

"Alright, two," Lydia continued, ignoring her interjection. "School is like a battlefield. Makeup is our war paint. When we put it on, it hides our flaws and displays our assets. It makes us strong. It makes us fearless. It makes us a force to be reckoned with."

"I really think you might be overstating that."

Scowling slightly, Lydia planted her hands on her hips and gave Charlie a withering look. "Which one of us knows what she's talking about? Oh, right, it's me. So you're going to go put those clothes on with a decent bra underneath, and I'm going to show you how to do this one last time. Okay?"

Muttering under her breath, Charlie grabbed the clothes off the bed and moved towards the bathroom to change. "Fine," she called over her shoulder, "but if you come after me with that eyelash curler again, I'll have you know that I have five years training in Krav Maga and I will not hesitate to end you."

"You're cute when you know I'm right but are in denial about it!" Lydia called after her, the smug smile finding its way into her voice.

What happened next was about twenty minutes of being poked and prodded, of having an assortment of brushes and combs yanked through her hair, and a variety of powders sprayed on her face. The entire experience left Charlie with one definitive conclusion: this would not be happening every day. From that day forward, Lydia would not be allowed in her house between the hours of 4 a.m. and 9 a.m. But when Lydia pulled her to her feet and stationed her in front of the mirror, Charlie couldn't help but smile a little.

Lydia was right. The makeup had transformed her face slightly—it made her look a little softer and a little harsher at the same time. If she had had any doubts or insecurities, they would be hidden behind those layers of powder. She let out a low whistle and turned slightly in the mirror, shoving her hands deep in the pockets of the jacket. "I look—"

"Hot," Lydia supplied, draping a proud arm over her shoulder. "You look hot."

"Yeah well don't go getting any ideas," Charlie said, nudging Lydia in the side and sliding out from under her arm. "My Converse and T-shirts aren't going anywhere. Tomorrow the phone's going on silent and I'll be embarrassing the shit out of you."

"Yeah," Lydia sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. "I guess I can't have everything."

This was good. Today Charlie wasn't the girl whose dad had just died. She wasn't obsessively thinking about the smell of banana pancakes and the sound of 'The Rolling Stones'. Today was her last first day at a new school, and she was going to kick its ass. Hard.

**So what do you think? Love it, hate it, want to set it on fire and watch it burn while cackling evilly? Let me know! Sorry there's no Stiles yet, but he'll show up soon enough.  
**

**References:**

**-the 'People Like Grapes' T-shirt is a reference to Gavin Free of Roosterteeth**

**-"Talks more and says less" is actually a derivation of an Oscar Wilde quote.**


	2. Car Trouble

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to everybody who favorited and followed the story! Also my wonderful reviewers TameTheGhosts, ScornedxRose, Lojo2014o, and FetusPosey3 for reviewing. And, most of all, thanks to BrittWitt16 for writing her fantastic story and taking the time to read and review mine!**

Chapter 2 – Car Trouble

According to Lydia, there was a specific set of guidelines as to how to establish yourself as one of the high school elite in Beacon Hills. The first rule was that the first day set the tone of the rest of the year—your wardrobe had to be stylish, your makeup had to be immaculate, and your heels had to have at least two inches on them. Thanks to Lydia's tireless efforts—some of which may or may not have violated the Geneva convention—Charlie had lived up to those high standards. Unfortunately, that was about as far as she had managed to get because rule number two—arrive in style—wasn't exactly going according to plan.

"Come on, girl, you can do it," Charlie whispered to herself as she twisted the keys in the ignition. The combination of spluttering and clanking that issued forth from the engine was not encouraging. The goddamn spark plugs were dying on her again. Apparently that quick fix she had used a couple of days back—electrical tape on the arcing wires—wasn't lasting quite as long as she had hoped.

All signs pointed to the fact that she should let that car go, but she couldn't. It was just too damn pretty. It was her freaking vehicular soul mate—had been since she saw the posting on eBay: 1966 Chevrolet Impala, black, needs engine and body work. One look, and it had been love. She bought it cheap and fixed it up with her dad, but there always seemed to be one little extra thing left to do. The passenger door stuck, the backseat seatbelts didn't work, the fenders were rusted, and now the spark plugs were dying on her. There were a lot of things wrong with that car, but it had never let it down before. And it wasn't going to start today.

"Come on, baby," Charlie cooed soothingly, twisting her keys again. All of the sudden the image of a pissed off Lydia entered her mind, with smoke coming out of her ears and making it look like her head was on fire. It was a pretty terrifying thought. "Alright," she whispered again, "unless you want me to beheaded by a freakishly intelligent social climber, you're going to start now."

As if on cue, the spluttering stopped and was replaced by the loud roar of the engine. Charlie smiled to herself and mouthed a silent thank you before pulling out of the driveway and taking off down the street. That car would never let her down. As she drove down one of the multitude of the heavily wooded roads that seemed to cut through Beacon Hills, her eyes fell on the tiny silver ornament that dangled from the rearview mirror, catching the sunlight. It was a Saint Christopher's medallion—the patron saint of travelers. She and her dad had never been religious—she couldn't remember the last time either of them had been to church but she had probably been wearing pigtails at the time. Still, though, the first time she had climbed in that car on her own, her dad had leaned in the passenger-side window and hung it there 'just in case'. 'Hedging his bets' he had called it. She could still remember him leaning on the edge of the window and grinning widely. "You're gonna to need it, kiddo," he had said to her, "because you are definitely going places." She chose to ignore the loud bang of the car backfiring and the cloud of smoke issued from the tailpipe that immediately followed that thought.

By the time Charlie pulled into the parking lot of Beacon Hills High School, Lydia was already there, leaning against her gleaming VW Bug with her arms folded across her chest and eyebrows raised expectantly. Charlie rolled her eyes and pulled into the empty spot next to hers. Turning off her engine and putting the car into park, Charlie gripped the steering wheel for a moment and took a deep, steadying breath before clambering out of the car.

"I've been waiting here ten minutes," Lydia immediately said in a weird, high-pitched growl. "We left at the same time. What the hell took you so long?"

"Jesus, Lydia, untwist your panties," Charlie mumbled, reaching into the passenger seat and grabbing her faded green canvass messenger bag.

"My panties are not the topic of this conversation," Lydia shot back, pointing a hostile, well-manicured finger at Charlie. "If we want to get the year started right—"

"Yeah, I know," Charlie replied through a groan, slamming the door closed behind her. "We need to be punctual, get here at the exact moment the most students are milling around outside, and then make the grand entrance. I had car trouble—there's not really a way to get around that."

Lydia flipped her curtain of glossy hair back over her shoulder and let out a loud scoff. "Well we could have gotten around that if you just got a ride with me like I wanted. That rust bucket of yours belongs in a junkyard anyway."

"Do not talk like that in front of her!" Charlie hissed angrily, placing a protective hand on the hood of her car and stroking it slightly.

"It's a car," Lydia replied, a little bit of derision coloring her tone. "It can't hear me. Calm the hell down about the car and get excited for the school year."

"Oh, I'm excited," Charlie drawled out sarcastically, waggling her eyebrows. "I'm all kinds of excited—school spirit and all that crap. Go Direwolves!" She pumped her fist in the air theatrically and brought he fingers to her lips for a loud wolf-whistle.

"Put your arm down," Lydia growled, roughly grabbing hold of Charlie's hand and pulling it out of the air, glancing around to see if anybody had noticed. "And our team mascot is the Timber Wolf. What the hell is a Direwolf?"

Charlie shrugged innocently, locked the car, and began walking towards the school through the side entrance to the courtyard, dragging her heels slightly as she moved towards the front doors. A few moments later, Lydia's arm snaked through her own and she felt herself being yanked along, steered in a completely different direction.

"We don't enter through the side gates," Lydia instructed wisely. "There's nowhere near enough exposure there. If you want to make an entrance you have to go directly up the front steps, that way everybody has to look at you."

"Again," Charlie replied sarcastically, "I can not express to you how little I care."

"Well then," Lydia chirped through a wide, calculating smile, "I guess it's a good thing that you're not making the decisions here."

Soon enough Charlie found herself standing at the beginning of the walkway leading to the front of the school. She glanced at the red-head standing next to her who all of the sudden had a coy, sultry smile on her face. Lydia unlinked her arm from Charlie's reached in her black leather Gucci purse, pulling out her compact and tube of light pink lip gloss, liberally applying it and then blowing a kiss at the her own reflection.

"Gearing up for battle, are we?" Charlie murmured, the corners of her lips turning up slightly.

Lydia snapped her compact closed and turned to face Charlie, a wide smile covering her face. "So you do listen, then."

Charlie blew out a long breath and shrugged her shoulders. "You talk so much something's bound to sink in."

"Yeah?" Lydia quipped back, arching an eyebrow mischievously. "Well let's see if this sinks in. This, my dear Charlie, is how you make an entrance."

With one last flip of her hair, Lydia stomped down that concrete sidewalk like it was a freaking cat-walk—hips swaying side to side and handbag neatly poised in the crook of her arm. Charlie smiled and trailed after her, messenger bag hanging casually from her shoulder, hands shoved in her jacket pockets, and generally emitting much less 'flair' or 'sparkle' or whatever the hell it was the girly magazines called it these days. More than a couple of eyes made their way towards Lydia, but none with more enthusiasm than one guy—close cropped hair, big brown eyes, and wearing what looked like an off-brand Captain America T-shirt.

"Hey Lydia!" he called out in a voice that seemed to be equal parts gleefulness and desperation as she passed by. "You look li—like you're going to ignore me."

Lydia brushed by the guy without so much as a second look, and the guy turned back to his friend with a face scrunched up in frustration. Chuckling to herself slightly, Charlie took a little time from her own 'grand entrance' and paused in front of the two of them.

"Don't take it too personally," Charlie said in a conspiratorial whisper, making the guy blink at her in surprise. He looked her up and down and then looked around him to see if there was anybody else around she was trying to speak to.

"Wh—what are you talking about?" he stammered out in confusion, looking to his dark-haired friend like he was seeking some sort of confirmation.

Charlie raised her eyebrows in amusement and tried to suppress the smile threatening to form on her lips. "Lydia," she prompted, jerking her head in the red-head's direction. "When she goes into 'strut mode' she's pretty much dead to the world. I like to imagine that she's playing the song 'Whip My Hair' in her head on a loop. That or the 'Imperial March' Darth Vadar theme." His mouth opened and closed a few times, staring at her in complete bemusement, and that smile she had been struggling against fought its way to the surface. "Well, have a good day then," she chirped happily, giving him one big pat on the back before continuing on her way.

"It was nice to meet you! Wh—whoever you are!" he called after her, his voice thick with confusion.

Without turning around, Charlie lifted her hand in the air and gave a single, perfunctory wave before ascending the stairs and stepping through the doors.

The inside of Beacon Hills High School was the same as pretty much every other school she had attended over the years. Charlie often wondered if there was an agreed upon set of rules that all the schools got together and established while nobody was looking, each of which was carefully orchestrated to suppress creativity whilst simultaneously pretending to encourage it. They all had those checkered, laminate floors, the oppressively beige walls, and those ridiculous cork boards covered in colorful paper and bordered with those weird wavy, crafty things. And then there were the inspirational posters—those were her favorite—each of them with their own deep insights that were supposed to make students think, when in reality the kids were all just falling asleep and drooling on their notebooks. Last year Charlie had snuck into her old school early in the morning and covered each of those deep, thought-provoking posters with the laser 'Hang In There' kitten. She had gotten caught and was given two weeks of detention, but it was totally worth it.

Charlie readjusted the strap of her messenger bag on her shoulder and made her way towards the main office which was right near the front door. Once inside, she walked up to the front desk and tapped the bell that lay in front of her, making the older woman sitting there look up at her through her thick-framed glasses. "Hello," she murmured in that standard bureaucratic tone. "Can I help you?"

"Hi, yeah," she replied with an awkward wave. "I'm Charlotte Oswin. My aunt contacted the offices a week ago to register me as a student here—sophomore year. I was told to stop by the office for my schedule and other information."

"Just one moment," the woman said, holding up a finger and rifling through the papers on the desk. "Ah, yes, Ms. Oswin," she continued, squinting at the small print on one of the pages. "I've got your information here. If you'll just have a seat in one of those chairs over there, the Vice Principal will be right with you."

Nodding slightly, Charlie collapsed into one of the overstuffed chairs indicated. She stretched out her legs in front of her and crossed her ankles and leaned back on the head-rest so that she was staring at the ceiling. She closed her eyes and sighed. Maybe she could take a nap. Naps were good. That plan didn't last very long, though. After about three minutes somebody sat down in the chair next to her and started bouncing their knee up and down nervously.

Slowly, Charlie cracked an eye open and looked at the person sitting next to her. It was a girl about her age, pretty, with long, dark hair, high cheekbones, light brown eyes, and flawless pale skin that for some reason was tinged slightly green.

"You're going to be fine, you know," Charlie mumbled making the other girl jump.

"Oh!" she squeaked in a confused voice. "I—I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Charlie smiled softly and straightened in her seat. "I said you're going to be fine. Every time somebody talks to you, just smile and nod and it'll all work itself out." The girl's eyebrows pulled together in a confused frown, making Charlie's smile widen slightly. "You're new here, right? First day?"

She let out a light laugh and nodded. "Yeah. How could you tell?"

Charlie let a serious expression cover her face. "I'm psychic."

"Really?" the girl asked through another laugh.

"Absolutely," Charlie replied with a grave nod. "Also, you're in the front office holding a piece of paper that says 'TRANSFER' in big, bold letters across the top."

She looked down at the paper in her hands and laughed again. "Yeah, I guess I'm a bit out of it today," she said, pulling nervously at the ends of her hair. She held out her hand and smiled widely. "Allison Argent."

Charlie accepted the hand and gave it a firm shake. "Charlie Oswin."

"Good," she said through a relieved sigh. "At least I know someone now. I was so freaked out that I'd end up eating lunch in the bathroom and going home without having met anybody. Are you a new student too?"

"Yup," Charlie replied, popping the 'p'. "Fresh-faced and ready to pack my brain full of knowledge, discover its irrelevance to my life as a whole, and then promptly forget it as soon as summer holidays start."

"Really?" Allison blurted out, sounding moderately surprised. "If you don't mind me asking, why are you not totally freaking out right now? You seem so calm."

Charlie shrugged and gave a non-committal jerk of the head. "I guess I've just gotten used to it. My dad was in the Coast Guard, I've been in like four schools over the past six years—we moved around a lot."

"Oh my God, me too!" Allison gushed, a huge smile covering her face. "My dad moves around all the time because of his job."

"Ring leader at a carnival?" Charlie asked eagerly. "Travelling vacuum salesman?"

Allison narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "None of the above. It's something in sales—he doesn't talk about it much, but we were in San Francisco for a year and a half and that was about the longest we've ever stayed in one place. I never managed to get used to it, though. I _hate_ being the new girl. You always end up feeling so helpless, wandering around and needing help finding things because by the time you actually figure out what's going on, it's time to take off again. Then you have to find new friends and….it's just so exhausting."

"Yeah," Charlie said, nodding slightly. "I think the worst bit of it is Facebook. You take a look and it's like, hey, Greg from New Orleans just bought a shirt. I mean really, Greg? Who cares. And then you realize, these people were my friends. Now the only interaction you have is writing 'lol' on their feeds every once in a while."

"It does make it feel kind of pointless sometimes, doesn't it?" Allison mumbled quietly. "It's like a self-fulfilling prophecy now."

"Oh, I've developed a solution for that," Charlie quipped, straightening in her seat and holding up a single finger to emphasize her point. "I just decided to be an antisocial weirdo with no friends who constantly posts to Twitter in order to feel connected to the outside world and keeps a ton of cats as a substitute for love. You get to skip over all of the exhausting bits."

Allison bit back a laugh and raised her eyebrows questioningly. "How's that working out for you so far."

Charlie winced theatrically and shook her head. "Not so well. The first bell hasn't even rung yet, I'm already having constructive conversations with new people, _and_ enjoying myself in the process. I'm pretty disappointed by it all. You've ruined everything."

"Well," Allison said with a sardonic expression, "I guess your loss is my gain."

"Yeah," Charlie sighed out casually. "It wasn't a total waste."

"So why Beacon Hills?" Allison asked suddenly. "I mean, we moved hear for my dad's job—there's not much water around here for the Coast Guard to deal with."

Charlie bit down hard on the inside of her cheek till it started bleeding a bit and her mouth filled with the taste of pennies. It wasn't that she didn't like talking about her dad or that it was difficult to talk about her dad—she loved to talk about him. Before everything that had happened, the way she understood it was that talking about a dead loved one brought you pain. That's not how it worked for her. For her it was like there was a constant ache in her chest—somewhere indefinable—and talking about him, it was like visiting him for a little while. Sometimes it hurt a little more when she stopped talking—she would dwell a bit more on the shock and the pain of the experience—but she was willing to put up with that. No, the main problem with talking about her dad was the reactions she would get. Pity and sad puppy dog eyes from strangers weren't exactly on her list of favorite things. But still, it wasn't a topic she could totally avoid, especially if she intended on making friends. And the girl sitting next to her seemed worth being friends with.

Allison, sensing that she might have said something wrong, clammed up a little bit, so Charlie sent her a reassuring smile. "I actually moved in with my aunt. I recently went through a kind of paradigm shift in the 'parents and/or guardians' aspect of my life."

Allison just nodded and mumbled a quiet 'oh' of understanding. She didn't press the subject. She bit her lip and kept nodding, staring absently at the floor and obviously trying desperately to find a new topic of conversation. Suddenly she looked back up. "What class are you the most excited for?"

"Lunch."

The two girls started laughing. What followed next was an easy conversation which concluded in the exchanging of phone numbers and a promise to look out for each other during the lunch period. There conversation had veered in the direction of favorite youtube cat videos when a man came to stand in front of them, staring down at them expectantly.

"Ms. Oswin, Ms. Argent, I'm Mr. Allen," he said in an official-sounding voice. "I would like to welcome you to Beacon Hills High School."

"It's nice to meet you," Charlie said, getting to her feet and holding out a hand.

The man took it, giving it a single shake. "I'm sure you're going to find yourself right at home here," he said through one of those carefully orchestrated smiles people in administration offices always seemed to have mastered. He pulled out the folder he had tucked under his arms and flipped through some of the papers inside. "Alright Ms. Oswin, it looks like your actually good to go. Your aunt was quite diligent in getting all the paperwork in—I think I got about a dozen calls from her last week to make sure everything was sorted. Ms. Argent, I'm actually going to have to ask you to wait with me for a few minutes—we seem to be missing some of your information."

"Oh, yeah," Allison laughed nervously, tucking some stray hairs behind her ear. "Sorry about that. The move was kind of sudden and we didn't have a lot of time to get ourselves established."

"That's completely fine," Mr. Allen said understandingly. "It'll really only take a few minutes. You won't miss a thing. And even if you do, I'm sure Ms. Oswin here will fill you in. It looks like you're in the same first period English class." He turned to Charlie and handed her a piece of paper. "Ms. Oswin, here's your schedule. If you want I can get someone to direct you to your cl—"

"No, no, that's okay," Charlie said, holding up a hand. "I think I can figure it out. The rooms are assigned numbers which go in a particular order as you walk down the hallway. Straightforward enough." She turned to Allison with a smile and patted her on the back. "I'll save you a seat."

"Thanks," Allison called over her shoulder.

It didn't take long for Charlie to find the English classroom. The class was still filling as she made her way in. Silently approaching the teacher, she handed him the admissions form from the front office which he accepted with a single nod of understanding and gestured for her to stand next to the desk. Charlie could never really get used to this whole part of the process. It always made her feel like she was a preschooler.

"Alright, everyone," he called out to the class which was slowly expanding in size. "It looks like we've got some fresh meat here. I'd like you all to say a big hello to Charlotte Oswin. We're all going to be kind and respectful. Basically, don't be yourselves."

During the teacher's rather monotone introduction Charlie scanned the room looking for empty seats for her and Allison, when her eyes came into contact with another set of brown familiar ones—the guy from this morning. He blinked in recognition and gave an awkward wave, like he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted her to notice it. She just raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips together in a thin, amused smile before looking back to the teacher to see what she should do next.

"Alright, Charlotte," the teacher—who according to the chalkboard was named Mr. Hobson—drawled out in a tired voice. "Why don't you tell us all a little bit about yourself?"

Letting out a sigh, Charlie readjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulders, looking up at the ceiling and searching for something to say. "Okay," she replied casually, blowing away some hair that had fallen in her face. "I go by Charlie, I just moved here from San Diego. I'm a Gemini, I like long walks on the beach, and I once met Chuck Norris while in line to get gelato. One of those is a lie—it's up to you to figure out which."

There was a small round of chuckling barely audible over the sounds of chairs scraping and bags being unzipped. Charlie could have sworn that Mr. Hobson rolled his eyes before turning back to the chalkboard and writing out the day's lesson. 'Thank you Ms. Oswin for that…._colorful_ introduction. Now if you'll please take a seat."

"Fantastic!" she replied with artificial enthusiasm before moving through the rows of seats until she found two together. She plopped down in one of the chairs and dropped her bag on the floor, rummaging around in it till she found a notebook and pen. Ripping out one of the pages, she quickly scribbled out a note that read 'RESERVED: If you sit here I will drip honey on your eyeballs and release a thousand fire ants' and deposited it on the desk next to hers.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw some movement. Glancing to her left she saw once again the same guy from this morning, whose desk was two over from hers and right next to the one she picked out for Allison, craning his neck and almost standing up in his chair to get a look at what it was she had written. She leaned towards him, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Is there something I can help you with?" she whispered conspiratorially.

At the sound of her voice, he collapsed back in his chair, almost falling out of it. "Nope," he said casually, shaking his head. "No, it's all good here—" he began waving his hand around over his desk. "Everything's just peachy in this general area."

"Okay, then," she muttered back, trying to suppress a laugh. "That's good to know."

There was the sound of a throat being cleared, making the two of them turn to face the front of the room, where Mr. Hobson was standing and staring at them, a displeased expression covering his face. "Ms. Oswin, I'm prepared to offer you a little latitude this morning since it's your first day, but this is a classroom. You're here to have knowledge shoved into that pretty little head of yours, not to expand your Twitter fanbase. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yup," Charlie replied, giving a cheerful salute. "I'm ready to learn and be inspired. 'Oh Captain, my captain', standing on desks, the whole nine yards."

The man sighed heavily and scratched at his forehead. "Thank you for the sentiment, Ms. Oswin, but there will be no standing on desks in this classroom. It's a health and safety issue." There was a loud spluttering laugh that was unsuccessfully turned to a cough, again from her left, that made the teacher sigh heavily. "Are there any insights you have that you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Stilinksi?"

"No sir," the guy said, shaking his head. "No insights of any kind. Totally without insights."

"Alright, moving on," Mr. Hobson murmured, returning to his blackboard and scratching Kafka's Metamorphasis across it in big, bold letters. "As you all know, there was indeed a body found in the woods last night." Charlie's ears perked up at that. Well this was certainly going to be more interesting than Gregor Samsa's bug-i-fication. Murder did make the town a touch more interesting. She leaned forwards in her seat slightly, eager for more information, even if it came in Mr. Hobson's deadly dull monotone voice.

"I'm sure you're minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to what happened. But I am here to tell you that the police have a suspect in custody, which means that you can give your undivided attention to the syllabus which is on your desk outlining this semester."

Grumbling loudly, Charlie slid down in her desk and picked up the offending piece of paper, scanning over the list. Kafka's 'Metamorphosis', Voltaire's 'Candide', Swift's 'A Modest Proposal'—she had read half the syllabus already. Well at least that would give her more time to dedicate to chemistry. Fun.

After a few moments of scanning over the syllabus, the classroom door opened revealing Allison and Mr. Allen. Allison looked seriously nervous, clearly having been smacked by a second wave of first day jitters. Charlie raised her hand and gave a small wave, pointing to the seat she had saved, and a small, relieved smile crossed Allison's face.

"Alright, class," Mr. Allen announced to the room, "it looks like we've got another new student. This is Allison Argent. Just do your best to make her feel welcome."

Allison walked towards the designated seat with hunched shoulders, trying to make herself look as inconspicuous as possible. She sat down at her seat and giggled at the note, turning to Charlie and mouthing a silent 'thank you'. Charlie waggled her eyebrows enthusiastically and turned to the front of the classroom. Allison let out a soft snort and was prepared to the same, but was suddenly confronted with a pen being held out to her by a suitably adorable looking boy, the second half of the duo from that morning.

"Oh," Allison whispered in surprise. "Thanks."

Charlie bit her lip to fight off the giggles threatening to burst forth from her throat. Given the expression on the guy's face, he was already smitten. Inside of twenty seconds and Allison already had somebody crushing on her. Oh, yeah. She was going to be just fine.

At the sound of Charlie's cough/laugh, Allison turned to her with a confused expression. "What?" she mouthed, furrowing her eyebrows. Charlie just continued to waggle her eyebrows—this time suggestively—making Allison roll hers in response. "Shut up."

Any more potential teasing was cut short as Mr. Hobson pushed himself up from his chair and moved towards the blackboard. "Okay, class," he sighed, "I'm going to ask you to turn to page 133 in Metamophosis."

Sighing heavily, Charlie reached into her bag and pulled out her worn and thoroughly marked copy of the book, letting it flop open to the right page on her desk. "And so it begins."

There wasn't much to distinguish that first day from all the other ones she had experienced. It was a typical first day—absolutely nothing concrete was accomplished, but it was filled with the looming threat of homework and essays, big bolded letters screaming 'EXAM' at her from the syllabus. There was that son of a bitch Mr. Harris, the chemistry teacher, who had already assigned them four chapters to finish by the end of the week. She was going to have to keep her eye on him. He seemed to take a special kind of glee from humiliating his students—your garden variety underachieving psychopath. But Coach Finstock, the economics professor, more than made up for it with his hilarious, over-caffeinated rants. All in all, it was a pretty good start to the year. But the day ended the same way they always did: with her tapping her pen on the desk and watching the second hand tick down. And three, two, one.

At the sound of the bell, Charlie quickly shoved all of her things away and practically sprinted to her locker, trying her best to get there before the rush hour traffic totally clogged up the hallways. Alas, she proved unsuccessful. Between that one wrong turn down the hall and almost accidentally walking into the boy's locker room, the halls were almost completely vacant by the time she found her way to her locker again. She fiddled with the lock until it unlatched and began yanking out books.

Slamming the locker closed, she turned around to see Allison down the hall, standing at her own locker with her back to Charlie and sharing what seemed to be some pretty intense eye-flirting with adorable, floppy-haired guy who had leant her the pen that morning. Smiling slightly, Charlie snuck up behind her as quietly as possible—quite the feat given the heels Lydia had put her in.

"Have you returned the pen yet?" she inquired casually, making Allison jump.

"Jesus, Charlie," she gasped out, holding her hand to her heart. "You scared me."

"Sorry," she replied, wrinkling her nose apologetically. "I looked for you at lunch and didn't see you around."

"Oh, that's okay," Allison said, waving her hand dismissively. "I didn't end up eating lunch in the bathroom. My mom dropped by and we ate together. She always gets a bit overprotective at the beginning of a move. She called me like three times this morning to make sure I was doing alright."

Charlie pursed her lips and nodded in understanding before letting a sly smile slip across her face. "So you didn't answer my question."

"What question?" Allison asked a little too quickly, turning back to her locker and suddenly becoming very interested in her French textbook.

"Did you give him the pen back yet?" Charlie prompted, nudging Allison in the side with her elbow. "Because judging by the way he's gazing longingly at you, he would be happy to tell you that he would be happy to let you keep it. Or he just really, really liked that pen and is now suffering from separation anxiety."

"I don't think I followed that," Allison murmured into her locker.

Charlie leaned against the neighboring lockers and rolled her eyes heavily. "Yes you did."

Allison bit her lip nervously and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet before stealing a glance over her shoulder at the guy in question, who was now accompanied by that goofy friend of his—Stilinski. "You really think he likes me?" she whispered back eagerly.

"And there it is," Charlie said, smiling widely. Allison widened her eyes and jerked her head slightly in the guy's direction, gesturing for Charlie to continue. "Alright, alright," Charlie said, holding her hands up in submission. "In my experience there are two reasons for a guy to stare at you with that sort of intensity. Reason 1: he's into you. Reason 2: he's a cannibal trying to find out what kind of appetizers to eat when he's feasting on your decomposing remains."

"Ew," Allison whined, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that."

"Hey, it's at your own risk. You were warned."

Glancing down the hall past Allison, Charlie saw Lydia strutting by and waved her over. Lydia, catching sight of her, gradually slowed and came to a complete stop in front of Allison, looking the girl up and down with an expression of intense concentration. "That jacket," she said, gesturing at Allison's ensemble, "is absolutely killer. Where did you get it?"

Allison shot a questioning glance at Charlie, who gave her a small nod, before turning back to Lydia. "My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco."

A mischievous smile pulled at the corners of Lydia's lips as she looked at Allison appraisingly. "And you," she said, pointing at a severely confused Allison, "you are my new best friend. Sorry, Charlie. You're out."

"That's fine," Charlie said through a theatrical yawn. "I never liked you that much anyway. Lydia Martin, meet Allison Argent. Allison, this is Lydia. She's only about half as crazy as she seems from the outside."

Lydia let out a loud scoff and smacked Charlie on the arm, no doubt preparing some sort of scathing response, but before she could a dark cloud of Gucci cologne and overly stylized hair descended on the trio and landed directly on Lydia's face. Charlie raised her eyebrows at the sudden display—an expression matched by Allison's who appeared to be slightly perturbed by the aggressive PDA. "Allison," Charlie said, gesturing at the face currently being mashed into Lydia's, "this is Jackson Whittemore. Lydia's boyfriend. If that wasn't already apparent by the flagrant sucking of faces."

"Sucking of faces?" Jackson said through a slight sneer, extracting himself from the embrace and glowering slightly at her. "Charlie, sometimes when you talk, I could swear I'm listening to my mom. It's embarrassing."

"Does that mean I can send you to bed without desert or take away your Porsche?" Charlie asked, widening her eyes innocently. "Because I would love to see you cry like a hungry, angry baby when I do one or both of those things."

Jackson rolled his eyes theatrically, making Charlie smirk at him. That was the basis of their relationship. They barely tolerated each other, but the constant string of jabs they threw back and forth made barely tolerating each other kind of fun. "I never know what the hell you're talking about," he sneered, waving her off. He turned away from her, letting the sour expression drop from his face, and looked over at Allison. "Welcome to Beacon Hills," he said, extending his hand to her. Allison took it with a little hesitation. He fixed her with that 'winning smile' that always made Charlie gag a bit and held on to her hand just a little too long. "You're gonna like it here."

"I love your bracelet!" Lydia interjected, grabbing Allison's hand and pulling it away from Jackson's. "That is really adorable."

Charlie lifted her hand to her mouth to hide a snort. "On this week's episode of _Fashion Police_—" she murmured under her breath.

"Oh, shut up, Charlie!" Lydia said, smacking her on the arm again. "I was just being friendly! And speaking of being friendly—" she continued, redirecting the comment to Allison and leaning against Jackson, kind of like she was marking her territory "—this weekend, there's a party."

"A party?" Allison asked quietly, sounding a bit nervous.

"Yeah," Jackson said, nodding along. "Friday night. You should come."

"Oh, I can't," Allison drawled out evasively, shrinking back into the lockers. Charlie didn't blame her. On their own Jackson and Lydia could come on strong, but as a pair…confronting them was not for the faint of heart. But Allison seemed to stand her ground. "It's family night this Friday," she said, latching onto an excuse. "But thanks for asking."

Jackson raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "You sure?" he demanded incredulously. "Everyone's going after the scrimmage."

"Y—you mean like football?" Allison asked, glancing around at all of them.

Jackson let out a derisive laugh that made Allison shrink back a little more. "Football's a joke at Beacon," he said, still chuckling. "The sport here's lacrosse. We've won the state championship for the past three years."

"Because of a certain team captain," Lydia proclaimed proudly, reaching up and playing with Jackson's hair.

Charlie scoffed and rolled her eyes at the display. "It's true incidentally," she piped up, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back against the lockers. "The other nine guys have absolutely nothing to do with it. They just stand on the sidelines and let Jackson do his thing. They're more like glorified cheerleaders really."

Allison worked hard to hide a smile behind her hand while Jackson glared evilly. Charlie just smirked back and shrugged her shoulders. "Ignore Charlie," he said bitterly. "She generally has no idea what she's talking about. Come see for yourself. We have practice in a few minutes. That is, if you don't have anything else…."

Allison glanced around, like she was looking for some sort of escape. "Well I was going to—"

"Perfect!" Lydia said, cutting her off. "You're coming." She grabbed hold of Allison's hand and dragged her a few feet before glancing over her shoulder and seeing that Charlie was planted firmly in the exact same place. "Charlie, come on! You don't want to miss out on any of the hot lacrosse boys running around in their gear do you?"

"Oh, no, I'm sitting this one out," Charlie replied, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm going to the library, getting some homework out of the way."

Lydia gaped at her. "Seriously? It's the first day of school, how much work do you have to do? Don't be ridiculous. You're coming."

"Nope," Charlie said, popping the 'p'. "My aunt's freaking out over this whole 'being responsible for a teenager' thing enough as it is. Right now I'm pretty sure she has a truancy officer on speed dial to make sure that I'm not turning into a drugged up dropout. I am going to the library, doing a month's worth of chemistry assignments, and showing them to her so she can calm down and stop reading parenting books."

Lydia narrowed her eyes and pouted. "You're no fun."

"Never said I was."

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Lydia started to stomp down the hallway, dragging a confused Allison after her. Watching them go, Charlie cupped her hands and brought them to her mouth to shout after them. "Remember Allison! If you start enjoying yourself, you're probably suffering from Stockholm Syndrome!"

True to her word, Charlie made her way to the library, found a comfortable spot, and hauled out her chemistry textbook. Of all the classes she was taking that semester, this would be the one most likely to kick her ass. And everything she said had been 100% true. Aunt Mel was freaking out, and this was the best way she could think of to stop that crazy train before it jumped the tracks. And if she was being honest, she really didn't mind spending her first day of school holed up in the library. She found libraries oddly soothing. It was the smell of old books that got to her—it smelled like knowledge and imagination. And there was the added bonus that she wouldn't have to watch Jackson and all his ridiculous male posturing.

By the time she left the library, her car was one of the last ones in the lot and the sky had faded slightly into a darkened grey. She clambered into her car and crossed her fingers and she put the key in the ignition, softly chanting 'please, please, please' under her breath and letting out a small cry of victory as the engine revved to life. She pulled out of the parking lot, smiling widely and blasting 'AC/DC' out of the speakers. She was ready to be at home, showered, with a good book and a heaping serving of ice cream. Unfortunately, the universe seemed to have other plans.

BANG!

Charlie jumped in her seat at the noise, which was immediately accompanied by a violent lurching of the car. "Oh, shit, shit, shit," she groaned, grimacing at the sensation. She pulled over to the side of the road and got out of the car, letting the engine idle. If she turned it off, it might not turn back on again and she did not want to be stranded on the side of the road in a heavily wooded area that looked vaguely reminiscent of the setting of the 'The Blair Witch Project'. Slowly, she circled the car letting her eyes rake over it to find any possible issues before coming to a stop by the back left wheel.

"Son of a bitch."

There was a giant piece of something-or-other protruding from the tire—or what remained of it. The thing had blown out completely. She went back around to the driver's seat, turned off the car, and popped the trunk. Grabbing hold of an old motor-oil-stained rag, she moved back to the deflated tire and, using the rag, yanked out whatever it was that had caused the blowout. She held it up in the sunlight and squinted at it carefully.

"Holy shit."

It was an antler. An honest-to-God antler from a fully grown adult male deer. The edge that had punctured the tire was splintering and had fractured into a point, like it had been somehow broken off. And there was blood around the breaking point from that velvet lining the bone, meaning the animal had been alive when it happened. How was that even possible? What would have the strength to do something like that, let along the motivation?

Charlie's internal monologue was cut off abruptly by the sound of a distant, rumbling thunder. Great. The only thing that could make this situation any more sucky would be getting caught in the rain on a woodland road with a blown out tire. Standing up, Charlie held up the antler for a moment longer, considering what to do with it. After a few moments she went back around to the trunk of her car, wrapped it in a few more rags, and placed it carefully in the corner before hauling out the jack and spare tire and dropping them on the ground near the tire..

Grabbing a hair tie from her purse, Charlie quickly plaited her long, brown hair into a messy braid. Ugh. This ensemble, while a suitable introduction to the school year, was not conducive to impromptu car repairs. She kicked off the heeled ankle boots almost violently and groped around in the back seat until she finally found the pair of green Converse she had stashed there that morning. Well, that was as good as it was going to get. Time to go to work.

After about 25 minutes, Charlie was getting pretty close to finished with the tire change. She was exhausted and more than a little bit sweaty with hair sticking out of her braid randomly. Not a pretty sight. She was just finishing up tightening the nuts on the spare when all of the sudden a sort of crashing noise came from the forest behind her car—the sound of a couple of people plodding carelessly through the brush. Jumping to her feet, Charlie brushed off her skirt, wincing slightly at the sight of her tights which now had gaping holes in the knees. Operating under the weird assumption that someone was going to try and axe murder her, her hand tightened around the allen wrench as the sound grew closer. Soon enough, she could hear voices too.

"No, man, I'm telling you!" one voice said. "That was Derek freaking Hale! I mean, did you get a look at that guy. He could totally be a creepy murderer person! He had serial killer eyes!"

"Serial killer eyes are not a thing!" the other voice said. "And you heard what Mr. Hobson said. They've got a suspect in custody."

"Oh, and the police have never been wrong? I am familiar with the inner workings of the police department and I can honestly say that some of those guys can barely function on a fifth grade reading level."

"Keep walking! I'm gonna be late for work!" There was a short pause. "Ow! What was that for?"

"For not listening to me! And don't think I've forgotten about all this weird hearing and smelling stuff. Imagine what that's going to be like next time you go to the movie theater. Oh, man, it's going to be _rank_—"

The words came to a screeching halt as the two figures broke the line of trees and stumbled onto the road. It was those same two guys again—Stilinski and the one majorly crushing on Allison. They were everywhere. The both of them froze like deer in headlights, and she slowly released her hold on the allen wrench.

"Um, hey," she said, giving them an awkward wave. They just blinked at her, staying completely silent. "I'm Charlie, I think I'm in your English class. And your Chem class." More silence. "I'm pretty sure this is the part where you tell me your names."

"R—right!" the Stilinski guy said, snapping out of whatever fugue state he had seemingly entered into. "I'm Stiles," he continued, gesturing to himself, "and this—" he clapped his hand on the other guy's shoulder "—is my buddy Scott. And we—" he pointed back and forth between the two of them "—we are in your English class."

"And Chem class," Charlie prompted.

"And Chem class," he agreed, planting his hands on his hips and nodding with a special sort of jittery enthusiasm. "What are—what are you doing here?"

Charlie made a face and held up the allen wrench. "I got a flat tire," she said bluntly. "What are you doing here?"

"Just chilling," he answered a little too quickly. "You know walking around, seeing the sights, birds chirping, wind through the trees—that sort of thing."

Well that was certainly some fidgety and generally evasive behavior. The two of them were definitely up to something suspicious. Interest piqued.

"Really?" she said, raising her eyebrows questioningly. "You're just wandering around in the woods for no particular reason whatsoever?"

"We were looking for my inhaler," Scott blurted out, making Stiles sigh in frustration and shake his head. "I—I dropped it last night."

"Why were you wandering around the woods at night?" she inquired further, scrunching up her face in confusion.

"You know, you ask a lot of questions," Stiles declared, wagging a finger in her direction.

"Yeah?" Charlie replied defensively, folding her arms across her chest and leaning against her car. "Well you say a lot of weird shit that merits the asking of questions. For instance, wandering around the woods in the middle of the night, dropping inhalers. I'd say that's pretty weird."

Stiles blew out a long breath and scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly, looking extremely guilty. "We were—we were looking for the body. The one they found the other day."

Charlie blinked in confusion and cocked her head to the side. "Wouldn't the cops have the body?"

"It was sort of kind of…cut…in half." He lifted up a hand and made a sawing motion, wincing heavily as he did so. "We were looking for…the other bit."

Charlie pursed her lips in thought, looking between the two of them curiously. "Which way?"

"Which way is the body?" Scott mumbled, looking around him like he expected it to fall out of a tree or something. "We don't really know where it is."

"No, I mean which way was it cut in half," she elaborated. "I mean was it like cut off at the waist—legs from torso—or was it like a line down the middle like in the Body Worlds exhibits. That would be way more terrifying, but a hell of a lot cooler."

The two of them gaped at her like she had grown a second head which had then proceeded to ask them that question. Stiles let out an awkward laugh and rocked back and forth on his heels. "Don't, uh, don't you think that's a bit morbid?"

Charlie let out a loud snort. "As opposed to trying to find half a dead body in the woods?"

He opened his mouth like he was about to say something and then snapped it shut again. "That's—that's a good point."

The three of them stood there in the road for a moment, just staring at each other, each wondering what the hell the other one was about to do. It was like some bizarre Western shootout, only they were all facepalming instead of shooting at each other. Which, to be fair, was basically the social equivalent of shooting each other when you're in high school. They probably would have stood there a hell of a lot longer, but there was a massive crack of thunder over there heads.

"Right," Charlie said, clapping her hands together eagerly. "Well I'm going to get the hell out of here before the weather goes to shit." She threw the allen wrench in the trunk and squatted down next to the wheel to remove the car jack.

"Oh, right," Stiles said, taking a few steps forward and rounding the side of the car to help her out. "Do you need any help with the—you seem to have it pretty much covered."

Charlie yanked the jack out from under the car and stood up, wiping some of the sweat and a few stray hairs out of her eyes. "Yeah," she mumbled, waving the jack around a bit before tossing it in the trunk as well. "Hey," she chirped suddenly, turning to face them. "You wouldn't happen to have a car around here would you?"

"Y—yeah, my Jeep's just around the corner," he said, jerking his thumb to indicate the bend behind him. "Why, you need a ride? You're spare looks pretty set to me. You should be good to go."

"It's not the tire," she said, rapping her knuckles on the hood of the car. "The spark plugs on this thing shot—they're pretty much just electrical tape now. I've got to special order some to replace them with. I doubt I'd be able to get her to start up again on her own, and I'd really rather not call a cab or towing company. Do you think you could help me jumpstart the engine? Pretty please?"

Stiles blinked and gave her a curious look before nodding. "Sure. Absolutely. Anything for a damsel in distress." The withering look she shot him made him falter for a second. "Nope, never mind. No damsels here. Only independent, self-sufficient ladies in need of a teensy bit of help."

Within about five minutes they had the jumper cables all set up and she was gleefully revving the engine to her car. The three of them said their goodbyes and drove off in their respective directions. All in all it should have been an isolated incident—a little car trouble on the side of the road, but for some reason when she pulled into the driveway Charlie couldn't stop thinking about that weird confluence of events. The antler, the severed body, those two weirdos stomping around in the forest, and whoever the hell Derek Hale was and why he had serial killer eyes. Well one thing was for damn sure. This year was not going to be boring.

**Okay, not sure about how the last Stiles interaction worked out. I wanted their actual meeting to be super weird and awkward and then build from there. One thing I like about Charlie as I'm writing and getting to know her is that she thrives on awkwardness. No matter how weird the situation gets, she just goes with it and is totally comfortable with other people being uncomfortable (and sometimes enjoys it just a little too much). I also wanted to begin the intrigue *bum Bum BUMMM* (insert dramatic chipmunk face here). Finally, I wanted Charlie's complete acceptance of weird guy things like looking for dead bodies to come through. Hopefully I did it well enough.**

**Phew, I write a lot of long ANs.**

**Anyways, PLEASE REVIEW! Also please forgive any weird typos and stuff. It's like 2am and I suck at editing during the daytime, so…..**

**References**

**-the thing about Facebook friends and 'Greg from New Orleans is buying a shirt' is a sort of derivation of a Parks and Rec joke.**

**-'Drip honey on your eyeballs and set loose a thousand fire ants' is a reference to the TV show 'Castle'**

**-The 'Oh captain, my captain' and standing on desks and stuff is a reference to 'Dead Poet Society'**


	3. Nothing

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to my reviewers! 8 reviews for a chapter? Awesome! If I made 10 on the next one I might have a stroke (in the best possible way). Anyway, thank you to BrittWitt16, Msjanelle32, TameTheGhosts, ScornedxRose, suttonsays, Lojo2014o, and BananasGoneCrazy42 for reviewing!**

Chapter 3 – Nothing

"You know it's a good thing that tin can you call a car broke down. I was beginning to worry that you were going to get tetanus. Or Hepatitises A through M."

Charlie sighed heavily and propped her feet on the dashboard of Lydia's Beetle. With her car out of commission and Aunt Mel having to open up her shop in the morning, Lydia had seemed like the best possible mechanism of transportation from her house to school. She had even been willing to put up with the makeup and wardrobe check before she was reluctantly let into the car by an only slightly frustrated Lydia. What she didn't account for was Lydia's boundless energy and Type A personality, which, when paired with Charlie's general hatred for all things before 10:00 a.m., led to an extreme desire to throw herself out of the moving car.

"Hey, hey, hey," Lydia chided, reaching over and smacking Charlie's legs, "it's bad enough that you have to wear those combat boots. Don't get them on my car."

Groaning loudly, Charlie removed her feet from the dash. "It's not like I wore them through the trenches, they're from a sample sale Mel went to in L.A., not the Battle of the Somme," Charlie said through a yawn, wiping the sleep out of her eyes and wishing that Lydia had let her hit the snooze button at least one more time. "Anyways, they're designer and you said anything designer is fine. I thought you'd be happy about the fact that I'm wearing Zoombinis."

"Oh my God!" Lydia almost shrieked, pounding her hands on the steering wheel. "Zanotti's! They're called Zanotti's! And they are sacred."

"You subscribe to a seriously weird religion," Charlie replied sarcastically. "Do you build shrines and perform animal sacrifices? Am I going to show up at your house to find Prada missing?"

"There are about a thousand girls who would gladly kill their adorable furry dogs to get a hand on those shoes," Lydia said through a heavy roll of the eyes. "I mean, do you even know how much those things cost?"

"No I do not," Charlie replied evenly. "Nor do I intend to find out. Every time I find out how much something costs these days, I get a mental image of starving people in Haiti. That's always a bit of a downer."

Lydia's mouth hung open in disbelief and she shook her head. "You are unbelievable. Sometimes I wonder why I choose to associate with you."

"Proximity," Charlie replied with a simple shrug of her shoulders. "And my sparkling personality."

Lydia's lower lip stuck out slightly in a determined pout and she cranked up the music, driving in silence. Charlie just sat there, twiddling her thumbs. It was only a matter of time before she began to talk again. She had yet to dish on any of the first-day intrigue, and Charlie could see the wheels turning in her head, grinding against each other and wanting desperately to relieve the pressure being built up by blurting out all out in one go.

"So something interesting happened at the lacrosse practice that you so idiotically insisted on skipping," she drawled out casually. She shot Charlie a few glances, trying to gauge her level of interest and provoke questioning, but Charlie just stared stubbornly in front of her. After a few moments, Lydia set out an exasperated sigh and flipped her hair over her shoulder in frustration. "Fine," she bit out angrily. "I guess I'll just have to tell you anyway. It looks like Beacon Hills has a new star player."

Charlie immediately let out a spluttering laugh. "Oh, that is just too great," she coughed out while Lydia glared at her in the rearview mirror. "Has Jackson had a stroke yet? Has his hair started getting all saggy and unkempt? Because I'm pretty sure that his hair is the source of all his power and now that he's no longer king of his little hill—"

"There is no sagging!" Lydia interrupted a little shrilly. "Jackson is still the team captain, and he is still on top. Except, of course, when I am."

"Ew, Lydia," Charlie whined, wincing heavily. "I really don't need to here about your and Jackson's bedroom adventures. As far as I'm concerned, he's a Ken doll. I'm totally uncomfortable with the idea of him having the capacity to procreate."

"Well I can assure you from personal experience that he is not a Ken doll," Lydia said through a wide, highly suggestive smirk that made Charlie cringe even more. "But Jackson isn't the point of the conversation. I want to know more about this new guy. It's important to have all the necessary information before moving forward."

"Jesus," Charlie muttered under her breath. "This is like the most low-stakes Tom Clancy novel of all time."

Ignoring her little quip, Lydia barreled on. "Apparently he has an English class with you and Allison. Why don't you do me a favor and see what you can find out about him."

"Why?" Charlie inquired casually. "Is he about to be inducted into the elite social circle of the illustrious Lydia Martin? If there's going to be hazing I refuse to be a part of it. Somehow everything always ends up sticky."

"There will be no hazing," Lydia said, rolling her eyes heavily. "Like I said, I just want to know who the players this year. His name is Scott McCall."

Scott. That was a familiar name but the face she was attaching to it didn't belong to a badass lacrosse jock. It belonged to an adorable nerd who was making puppy dog eyes at the girl sitting next to her in English class. Charlie furrowed her eyebrows and turned to face Lydia in confusion. "Does this Scott McCall have floppy dark brown hair and eyes like a scared baby?"

"Why, yes. Yes he does. It sounds like you already have a bit of an advantage."

Charlie groaned and wiped at her eyes again. "Well if I'm going to be thrown into this world of high-school espionage, I'm going to need some more sleep."

Charlie blew out a long breath and closed her eyes, leaning her seat back as far as it would go. That was her response to Lydia whenever the girl got incredibly worked up about something. Play dead. That was how you were supposed to deal with bears, so she figured the same adage would hold true for Lydia. And apparently she was right. The girl raised the volume of the music in a small act of passive-aggression, but for the most part left Charlie alone.

The fact of the matter was that Charlie had no intention of telling Lydia anything about Scott or his buddy Stiles. No specifics at least. There was that general information: he's in my chem class, he likes grapes, he trained extra hard to make first line, all the standard stuff that felt like it meant something. That kind of thing…sure, she would talk about it. Because none of it really mattered. Basic high school gossip. It was everywhere.

But then there was the interesting stuff, for instance that he and his friend went hunting for dead bodies and animatedly discussing potential killers. That kind of thing she fully intended on keeping to herself. Mostly because she was more than a little bit curious about it herself.

Lydia pulled into the school parking lot and found a spot near the front of the school. She pulled out her lip gloss and began carefully applying it, staring in the rearview mirror and smacking her lips loudly. It was her early morning ritual. Charlie cleared her throat to get Lydia's attention, but got no response. "I'm—I'm just going to go," she mumbled, gesturing at the door. She waited a moment, but received no reply. "Okay, then." She opened the door to the car and climbed out, grabbing that same messenger bag on the way out.

After stopping by her locker, Charlie went straight to the English classroom, dropped her books on the floor and leaned forwards on the desk. One of the perks of Lydia's insistence on getting there early to 'prepare for battle' was the fact that she could rest her eyes for a bit before Kafka. After a few minutes her breaths became slower and more shallow, and she was just about to doze off when she heard a carefully orchestrated cough from in front of her. She opened her eyes, blinking blearily, and her eyes slowly focused on a pair of shoes on the ground in front of her. Her eyes slowly travelled up until they came into contact with those belonging to one Stiles Stilinski.

"Wuzgoinon," she muttered unintelligibly, straightening suddenly in her chair and blinking into the light. She stared over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. There were still five minutes till the first bell and, other than the two of them, the classroom was still completely empty. "Hey," she croaked groggily, carefully peeling off some of the hair that was sticking to her face, and wiping off that little bit of drool accompanying it. Stiles was generous enough to pretend not to notice that little display. "What's up?" she chirped in an uncharacteristically high-pitched voice.

Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders slightly. He always seemed to enter conversations on the defensive, like he was preparing to be rebuffed or waved off. "Nothing," he muttered evasively. "I was just wondering if you got back okay yesterday. No more car trouble and all that. Not that you couldn't handle it yourself if there was, because all the evidence points to the fact that you are highly capable when it comes to the maintenance and upkeep of cars."

Charlie couldn't help the small smile that crossed her face. If she wasn't mistaken, Stiles was just the tiniest bit afraid of her. Or maybe it was just the typical undercurrent of anxiety guys who aren't egoistical douches seem to get when talking to an unfamiliar girl. Either way, she got a small degree of satisfaction from it. "I got back fine. Thanks again for your help. I would have ended up completely soaked otherwise. When I tried it this morning, the ignition was totally dead."

"So you know cars, huh?" he asked nervously.

"Yeah," she said through a nod. "My dad and I had to practically rebuild the whole thing back in San Diego last year."

"It's a pretty sweet ride," he mumbled, scratching at the back of his neck and staring intently at the floor. "It looked like it was in pretty awesome condition except for—you know—the fact that it doesn't work and all that."

"Hey, a '76 CJ-5 is nothing to sneeze at. And it actually performs a car's agreed upon purpose, so score one for Stiles." He suddenly looked up from the floor, an expression of surprise on his face. He actually looked a little bit impressed. Guys usually did when she talked about the topic, but vintage cars were kind of her thing.

The two of them lapsed into an awkward silence, with Stiles just standing there, rocking back and forth on his heels. Reaching into her bag, Charlie pulled out a bag of chips and held it out to him, but he shook his head in refusal. As she sat there, munching on what was definitely the world's best breakfast, she could tell that he there was something on the tip of Stiles's tongue, something he was kind of desperate to ask her, but just couldn't bring himself to do it. Okay, then. She would answer all on her own.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, you know," she mumbled out through a mouthful of greasy goodness.

"Wh—what do you mean?" he asked, an expression of guilt covering his face. There was a wince etched across his face like he was afraid of being judged for his actions. It was kind of adorable really, his hesitation. Based on the twitchiness he was exhibiting, you would have thought he was standing in front of a freaking firing squad. She held out the bag of chips again and after eyeing them suspiciously for a moment, he grabbed a fistful and shoved them in his mouth all at once, chewing frantically so he didn't have to talk.

Charlie raised a single eyebrow and gave him a knowing look, ready to relieve him of the terror he seemed to be experiencing. "The Misadventures of Stiles and Scott: Corpse-Hunter Edition," she elaborated, popping another chip in her mouth. "I'm not going to tell anyone. You're secret's safe with me."

The tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he swallowed down the chips with a loud gulp. "Thanks," he said in calmer tone. "I appreciate that. Most people would be a little weirded out by that kind of stuff."

"Well I'm not most people."

"Yeah, apparently." The words came out just a little too quickly and his expression suddenly shifted from one of relief to horror—as if her classification as 'atypical' would be deemed somehow offensive. He was afraid that she might be insulted or embarrassed. Again, Charlie fought off the urge to laugh.

"Just to be clear," she said, folding her arms on the desk and leaning towards him, "this is just your typical morbid, man-shenanigans. You're not keeping the other half of the body locked in a freezer or something, are you? Because if this turns out to be some 'Silence of the Lambs' shit, then I will be forced to contact the local authorities."

Stiles smiled and waggled his eyebrows theatrically. "The lambs are screaming, Clarice!"

Charlie stared at him evenly for a moment with an impassive expression on her face. "That was a terrible Hannibal Lecter impersonation."

"Oh, come on, that was great!" Stiles shouted, throwing his hands up in indignation.

"Nah, you've got to put more of a hiss on the end of the 'Clarice'. It's got to be more of a slurping noise—sounds like he's eating. Listen. Clarisssssssssss."

"Hm. That is better."

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him. "I think we're getting a bit off topic."

Stiles winced slamming his fist into his forehead. "Right, me," he said gesturing to himself, "not a serial killer. My dad's actually the sheriff, so those kind of extracurricular activities have been pretty heavily discouraged in our household. The exact words were 'I'm not covering for your delinquent ass'. It kind of makes me question the strength of our relationship. I like to think we're close, but sometimes I do wonder….."

"What has happened to family loyalty these days?" she exclaimed with false indignation, pounding a fist on her desk. "Love means helping to bury the bodies. Mob rules."

His eyes widened and he began waving his hands wildly, gesturing back and forth between the two of them. "That's what I said! I think our society has lost that sense of loyalty. It's sad, really. I mean, I'd like to think there's somebody in my life who cares enough to be an accomplice to murder."

Charlie pursed he lips and nodded. "Now that's true friendship."

Stiles laughed opened his mouth to say something else, but the first bell rang and students began to file in. Stiles gave a jerky nod and a wave and headed to his own seat. Charlie yawned and reached into her bag, pulling out her copy of 'Metamorphosis', notebook and pens before sliding down in her seat and propping her feet up on the seat in front of her. She idly flipped through the previous days notes, most of which were surrounded by doodles of trees and clouds and other random things. Turning to a fresh page, she began sketching out a new drawing—this time of a deer with a broken antler. She wasn't sure why that image had stuck in her brain, but it did, and as she sketched it out she felt heavier form some reason. That thing in the back of her trunk was still bothering her.

"Psst. Hey, hey, Charlie!" A hissing sound broke her out of her reverie. Charlie turned to see Stiles hanging out of his seat and leaning in her direction. It was actually a bit of a miracle of physics that he managed to stay seated in his chair.

"What?" she hissed back in confusion.

"Which one was the lie?"

Charlie furrowed her eyebrows and gave him a strange look. "What are you talking about?"

"Yesterday," he said waving his hand in a circle like he was trying to turn back time. "When you were introducing yourself to the class you gave us that list—Gemini, beach walks, Chuck Norris. Which was the lie?"

Charlie couldn't help the massive, shit-eating grin that spread across her face when he finished his question. Every single year she stood up in front of the class and gave that list, and not one person had bothered to ask her that question. She narrowed her eyes and leaned in Stiles's direction, mimicking his ridiculous posture. "I've always hated long walks on the beach," she whispered slyly. "They've been commercialized. Totally not worth it anymore."

His jaw dropped and he stared at her with complete incredulity. "Are you freaking serious?"

"What can I say?" she replied with a casual smirk. "Chuck Norris loves him some gelato."

The second bell rang, causing the metaphorical dam to break as students flooded in. No more opportunities for light conversation or casual banter, regardless of how much she wanted it to continue. She quietly stared at the front door as people moved in, looking at the faces and trying to remember them. That's what the first few days at a new school always ended up turning into—one giant game of 'Memory'. Match the face with the corresponding name. But that was when she actually managed to figure out the names—for now pretty much everybody was know exclusively by their most prominent characteristic. There was body odor guy, goth girl, ironic facial hair guy and so on and so forth—one by one she made note of their faces as they came in, until they were finally followed by Teacher Buzzkill. But then there were the last two stragglers—the ones who barely made it in before the bell, and who stumbled through the doorway at the exact same time.

As soon as Allison and Scott entered the classroom, there was a change in the air—it was filled with the promise of young love and reeked of teenage pheromones. Smiles were everywhere. Allison was smiling, Scott was smiling—there was generally way too much smiling going around for a first period English class. First period was for moody stares and stealth-naps while waiting for the caffeine to kick in. Add in the fact that the light glinting off of their freakishly white teeth was giving her a migraine, and it all made for an exceptionally confusing morning. For some reason looking at that pair was like looking into the sun she just wasn't sure if it was in a good way or a bad way.

As she took her seat, Allison studiously ignored the pointed waggling of eyebrows Charlie was sending in her direction. She ran her hands through her hair, dragging it over her shoulder and letting it fall into a curtain separating her face from Charlie's prying eyes, but not before Charlie say the faint pink blush covering her face. Clearly Lydia had chosen the wrong spy for reasons extending beyond Charlie's complete lack of interest in all things status-related. Allison definitely had the inside track on that guy. Charlie considered writing a series of notes, crumpling them into small balls of paper, and throwing them at Allison until she elicited some sort of response, but Mr. Hobson seemed to be in an even more bitter and unfulfilled mood than usual, and she could see a detention in store for her if she pursued that particular course of action. Nope, instead she stared at her notebook and took diligent notes.

When the bell rang, Charlie stood and began shoving her books into her bag, ready to head off to the next class—American History—but as she was just finishing getting her things together, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around to see Allison standing there, face flushed and smiling, while clutching her bag like Linus held onto that blanket of his.

"What's up?" Charlie inquired hesitantly, not wanting to add any more to Allison's persistent anxieties.

"Hey Charlie," she breathed out through a nervous laugh. "There's someone I want to introduce you to." She turned to the seat in front of her and tapped on Scott's shoulder, making him turn around. When Scott saw her, he paled visibly—which was something Charlie found impressive for someone so tan. It was kind of endearing actually, his total terror. "This is Scott," Allison continued, unaware of the sudden look of terror flitting across his face.

"We've actually already met," Charlie said with a knowing smirk.

Allison furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and looked between the two of them. Scott had that deer-in-headlights look about him again, his mouth hanging open slightly before suddenly snapping it shut. "Really?" Allison asked quietly. She readjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and clutched at it even tighter. Her knuckles were kind of white as they strained against her skin.

Charlie let out an easy smile. "Yeah, we met yesterday. My car broke down on the way home from the library. I thought I was about to be totally stranded out there in an end-of-days style epic downpour and him and his friend over there—" she jerked her thumb in Stiles's direction, prompting him to give an awkward salute "—they kind of rescued me. I probably would have drowned. Or at least ended up looking like a pruny old man from getting totally soaked through."

Both Allison and Scott seemed to relax visibly. Allison glanced over at Scott in that usual flirty way girls do—head tilted down slightly so she could look back up at his through her eyelashes. "He rescued you, huh? He seems to keep doing that."

Scott laughed and stared down at the floor, flushing with embarrassment.

"Hey, I helped," Stiles called out from his spot in the corner of the room, waving his hands about. "Just to be clear, I helped. I was instrumental in the helping process. It was my freaking car, so I'd even say that I was the primary help-giver in this particular scenario."

"Nobody likes a glory whore, Stiles!" Charlie called over her shoulder. She stepped forwards and grabbed Allison's hand, yanking the other girl after her. "If you two gentlemen will excuse us, Allison and I will be talking about Scott in hushed voices while giggling."

Without another word, Charlie dragged Allison into the hallway ignoring the quiet shrieks of protest. "Charlie, I can not _believe_ you did that!"

"Oh, like they didn't already know." Charlie pulled Allison into one of the small windowed alcoves in the hallway. She folded her arms across her chest and began tapping her foot impatiently. "Spill."

"Charlie, we're going to be late for class."

"Don't care," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Spill."

Allison opened and closed her mouth a few times, glancing self-consciously at the other students moving past them. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet and bit her lip.

"Don't be coy, Allison," Charlie admonished. "Save that for Scott."

After a few more moments of hesitation, Allison's resolve crumbled. "So I met him last night—"

"And there it is."

Allison rolled her eyes and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "I was driving in the rain and hit a dog—it just came out of nowhere, I couldn't avoid it. I brought it to the vet, and Scott opened the door. I was kind of freaking out and he….calmed me down. He was really sweet. We're—we're going to the party together."

Charlie let out a low whistle and smiled. "Well you work fast. I knew the 'family night' thing was bullshit."

Allison scoffed in indignation and smacked her on the shoulder before stomping down the hallway to her next class. Charlie chuckled at her retreating figure before heading the other direction to her own.

(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

"Oh sweet mother of fried goodness."

If there was a single thing that Charlie truly appreciated about Beacon Hills High School, it was the lunches. They had fantastic lunches. In that they were entirely unhealthy and only filled two or three of the basic food groups. The school she had gone to in San Diego was one of those 'enlightened' ones that only served actual healthy food like tofu and vegetables that didn't come out of a can. In her opinion, any school lunch program that came with a 'vegan' option was disgraceful and generally un-American. Nope, she wanted her lunches, fried and smothered with cheese with a good helping of ketchup on the side.

Loading her tray up with an almost impossible number of tater tots, Charlie wound her way through the lunch room looking for the right table. Generally, the lunchroom was divided up into the standard groups—the nerds, the geeks, the arty kids, the jocks, the popular kids, and the inbetweeners. Through all of the schools she had been in, Charlie had changed categories several times. Her academic paranoia planted her firmly in the 'nerd' classification, her guitar playing and sketching gave her an in with the arty kids, her obsession with sci-fi gave her a push in the 'geek' direction—she was a swirling vortex of random characteristics that she had never really been able to define. And that was usually okay because she would never stay in a school long enough for a definition to stick. But there was one place that she had never expected to sit, and that was the 'popular' table.

Charlie scanned the room looking for familiar faces and saw Stiles and Scott sitting at a table near the window, firmly planted in the inbetweener category. She gave them a wave of acknowledgement. The two of them looked at her with slightly confused expressions, but returned the wave in a way that wasn't entirely unenthusiastic. Charlie considered going to sit with them, but before she could move in their direction, Lydia's voice called out across the lunchroom.

"Charlie! Over here!"

Charlie looked back at the two boys and gave them a slightly apologetic shrug before making her way to the designated table at the center of the room. The table held the standard lunch group—Lydia and Jackson who were sitting side-by-side and caressing each other at random intervals, and Danny and Allison who were sitting opposite the overly affectionate couple. Approaching the table, she planted her tray between Allison and Danny and took a seat.

"Hey, Charlie," Danny said jovially. "You look nice today."

"You're looking ravishing yourself, Danny," she grinned, taking a sip of her drink. "I'm having some trouble containing myself around you. You want to go make out in a supplies closet?"

Danny rolled his eyes heavily, but smiled. "Tempting, but I'll have to pass. You're not really my type."

"You're breaking my heart, Danny," she pouted, sticking out her lower lip. "If only you weren't gay."

He draped an arm around her and patted her shoulder comfortingly. "If only you had a penis."

"It's like Romeo and Juliet," she mumbled sadly, "only it's our sexualities getting in the way of true happiness."

"You realize that Romeo and Juliet both died, right?" Allison said, snorting into her plate.

"Nobody likes a buzzkill, Allison," Charlie chided, waving a finger in her face.

"Are you really going to be eating all that?" Jackson interrupted. He was staring pointedly at the massive pile of fried potatoes on her plate with his eyebrows raised skeptically. "The party's on Friday. You're going to want to want to fit in your dress."

Charlie smirked widely and popped one of the tater tots in her mouth. "I appreciate the concern Jackson, but I'll be just fine. I have the metabolism of a field mouse."

Jackson frowned slightly. "Then how are you not the size of a house right now."

"Field mice have incredibly fast metabolisms," Lydia sighed out, making everybody look at her. She idly pushed her food around on her plate a few moments before looking up and finding herself the center of attention. She blinked slightly realizing her mistake and immediately back-tracked. "That's right, isn't it Charlie? I mean, that's what you told me the last time I saw you kill a pint of Ben & Jerry's on your own. Which was kind of gross, by the way."

"Gross and delicious," Charlie mumbled through a mouthful of potato, trying to brush past the topic for Lydia's sake.

"Close your mouth when you chew, Oswin," Jackson scowled.

Charlie glowered back and swallowed heavily. "So, Jackson," she drawled out casually, "I hear that the team is looking really, really good this year." It had been phrased as a compliment, but given what Lydia had said to her that morning Charlie knew full well that it was a loaded statement. The glare she received in response was so intense and hostile she was surprised her face didn't melt off in the process. She just smiled back radiantly, enjoying watching Jackson fume. It was worth it though, because the subsequent rant allowed her to eat her lunch in peace. Eventually the conversation turned towards the scrimmage and then settled on the party afterwards—allowing the guys to break off into a conversation about something manly and allowing Allison to reveal to Lydia that 'family night' was 'cancelled' and that she would, in fact, be able to attend.

"That is so fantastic!" Lydia said through a huge grin. "The party technically starts at 8:00, but nobody who's anybody gets there before 9:30. The dress code is casual, so you can wear whatever you want, as long as it doesn't make me want to claw my eyes out, but I don't think that will be a problem with you. Get ready to have fun."

The smile on Allison's face faltered slightly when confronted with Lydia's intensity—the girl certainly did take a little getting used to, especially for someone as nervous as Allison. The only reason Charlie hadn't been freaked out to begin with was because she was as aggressively laid back as Lydia was aggressively controlling. Somehow they seemed to cancel each other out.

"You're going to be there too, right," Allison asked, turning to Charlie.

Charlie opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out. She had never really considered going to the party. She had a bit of an aversion to crowds and drunk assholes, which kind of made a big school party her worst nightmare. She scrunched up her face into an apologetic expression. "I don't think—"

She was cut off by a sudden sharp pain blooming in her shin as someone kicked her under the table. She let out a small pained squeak and looked across the table to Lydia resting her head on one of her hands and staring pointedly at Charlie, eyebrows raised and silently threatening to kick her again. Charlie sighed and looked between Lydia and Allison. Between Lydia's wrath if she failed to attend and Allison's need for a buffer during her first outing, she folded like a cheap suit. Plus it wasn't like she couldn't get home easily—all she would have to do is cross the street. Charlie cleared her throat and continued, her voice not totally devoid of a defeated type of sarcasm. "I don't think I would miss it for the world."

Allison nudged Charlie in the side and mouthed a silent 'thank you' while Lydia beamed and gave her an approving nod. "That's what I like to hear. You know what else I like to here?"

"You have the air of a young Grace Kelly," Charlie drawled out in a resigned monotone.

"Well there's that," Lydia said smugly, "and the fact that you're going to help me set everything up. You're coming over after school and we're putting together a battle plan. Lights, decorations, drinks—" She began ticking off an entire grocery list of tasks on her fingers, but when she got to 'mosquito nets reminiscent of the Moroccan desert' Charlie had to cut her off.

"Sorry, but that's a no-go. I won't be taking this trip down the rabbit hole. Not tonight anyway."

Lydia's mouth hung open in a way that wasn't exceptionally attractive as she gaped in disbelief. "I'm sorry, Charlie, but I'm going to have to pull the friend card here."

"And I'm going to pull the 'I already have plans' card."

Lydia scoffed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "If you're talking about more homework, that is just unacceptable."

"I'm not talking about homework," Charlie said through a beleaguered sigh. "My aunt is sending me to a shrink to 'cope with the transition'. It's not exactly avoidable. She's still half-convinced that I'm going to freak out, take off all my clothes, and streak through the hallways of Beacon Hills High."

"Now that's something I'd like to see," Jackson leered. "Is there an ETA for this display?" His insufferable smirk lasted about three seconds before Lydia smacked him over the head and Charlie flipped him off. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively one more time before turning back to Danny and muttering something about steroids. Well, Lydia was going to be disappointed. If he picked up that habit, then his junk would shrivel up like a grape—or a pair of grapes—in the sun. Though maybe then she would be spared the details of the Whittemore-Martin sexcapades. That would be a definite upside. Not for Jackson, though.

"Fine," Lydia bit out reluctantly, calling Charlie's attention back to the conversation at hand. "I'll think about a way you can make it up to me."

"I'm not helping you with your weave again!" Charlie announced loudly, slamming her hand on the table and doing her best to block out Allison's hysterical giggling. "Once was enough!"

Lydia shrank down in her seat a little and glared. "I hate you."

"No you don't."

After school ended, Charlie caught a ride with Allison to the shrink's office after Lydia—who was still a little peeved about the lunch room display—had unceremoniously abandoned her in the parking lot. She sat in one of the uncomfortable seats in the front office waiting to be called in and flipping idly through one of the old 'Highlights' magazines that lay on the table and doing one of those 'name 10 things that are different between these two pictures' exercises. That was about the most productive thing that was going to be accomplished in that office—unless of course she managed to find a Sudoku puzzle.

In Charlie's opinion, she didn't need therapy. Therapy was for people who were trying to figure out they're problems so that they could fix themselves and become normal, functional members of society. Now Charlie knew that she was neither normal nor entirely functional—she new she had problems—but that was the point. She didn't need a shrink to tell her what her problems were because she was already completely aware of them. She already knew about her tendency to shut people out, her refusal to fully confide in anybody, her trust issues, her use of humor as a mechanism of both defense and deflection—she knew about all that. And as far as she was concerned it was her right to deal with those problems whenever and however she wanted to. But Aunt Mel had wanted her to go, and she was willing to sacrifice an hour of her life to give her some sort of comfort.

A few minutes later, Charlie found herself being called into the office and being told to have a seat. Dr. Hamilton was a rather plain-looking woman. She had a slim, boyish figure, straight, mousy brown hair that hung to just above her shoulders, and watery blue eyes that were hidden behind thick-framed glasses. From the exterior she appeared to be the definition of 'ordinary' but from the first time they had met, Charlie had noticed a steely-eyed intelligence in the eyes behind those glasses that made her wary.

Charlie dropped her bad on the floor and immediately collapsed on the sofa, lying down and dangling her feet over the armrest and kicking her feet back and forth. Dr. Hamilton sat down in the seat opposite her with a clipboard and pen and fixed Charlie with a neutral expression. "You don't have to lie down like that, you know," Dr. Hamilton murmured quietly. "The majority of Freudian psychology has been entirely rejected by the psychiatric community."

"Oh, I know," Charlie replied, waving a hand in Dr. Hamilton's direction. "I was just trying to create the right atmosphere—figure out the process. Why do you think it was that Freud made people lie on their backs in the first place? Do you think it was to make them more vulnerable? That the exposed posture makes them more likely to reveal their innermost secrets?"

"That's entirely possible," Dr. Hamilton replied. Charlie heard the clicking noise of a pen and the sound of it scratching against paper. The sound made her feel vaguely anxious, but she choked it back, instead focusing on the mildew stain on the ceiling that slightly resembled Daffy Duck.

The two of them both remained silent for a few minutes. This was usually how it worked out with Dr. Hamilton—or at least how it had worked out in the three sessions they had had so far. Neither of them would speak. Honestly, it felt like a bit of a power play, but Charlie was never sure who was the winner.

"So your first day of school was this week," Dr. Hamilton said casually. "The first time you've gone since your father died."

"Yeah," Charlie replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "Is there a special significance to that?"

"Not necessarily," Dr. Hamilton replied. "It depends on how you feel about having school start again."

"I feel like I have to do homework now and that kind of sucks," Charlie mumbled, picking at her nails absently.

There was a loud sigh from the chair in front of her that Charlie studiously ignored. Instead she grabbed one of the peppermints from the bowl on the coffee table next to the sofa and began crinkling the paper as loudly as possible before tossing it into her mouth. "Is that all that you're feeling," Dr. Hamilton prompted.

"I'm a little bit hungry," Charlie said through a yawn as she unwrapped another peppermint. "Also, there's this itch on my back in an area I can't quite reach. It's annoying the hell out of me."

There was another loud sigh, and Charlie finally looked away from that mildew stain on the ceiling and made eye contact with Dr. Hamilton. She had her elbows rested on her knees and her head in her hands and she was looking at Charlie with an expression that bordered between sympathy and pity. "Charlotte, this is your third session here," she said simply.

"Yup," Charlie replied, popping the 'p'. "What's your point?"

"My point is you have yet to share anything about the move, about your father, about how you felt when he died. You've given me a few anecdotal stories, but that's it. You haven't shared anything with me that you wouldn't put on an internet dating profile."

"Why on earth would I have an internet dating profile?" Charlie said, laughing slightly.

"Again, you miss my point," Dr. Hamilton said in a thoroughly un-amused tone. "Would you please do me the courtesy of sitting up straight?" Frowning slightly at the chastising tone, Charlie swung her legs back over the armrest and sat up in her seat.

Dr. Hamilton pressed her lips together in a thin line and gave Charlie a serious look. "Charlotte do you want be here?"

Charlie laughed and pushed her hair out of her face. "Honestly? No. I see no reason for me being here."

"So there's nothing you want to ask me?"

Charlie pursed her lips in consideration. "Well, I would like to know where Waldo is on page 108 in that magazine in the office outside. That's been bothering me for three weeks now."

Dr. Hamilton crossed her legs primly and looked at Charlie over her glasses. "Why are you here then?"

"To make my aunt feel better. She's going through enough as it is. If she needs me to be here, then I'm here. If she needs me to have 'help' going through all this, then I'll give her that."

"So you're here for what you aunt needs," Dr. Hamilton said, nodding slightly. "Well I'm here to find out what you need. So tell me, Charlie. What do you need?"

Charlie bit her lip and stared at the pattern of the carpet under her feet. What did she need? It was quite the question. She knew what she wanted—she wanted friends and a decent house and somebody who cared enough to take care of her. And she had all of those things. But there was a difference between what she wanted and what she needed. Her whole life she had trained herself to be independent. It had become clear since the very beginning that you couldn't fully rely on people—that even the people who were supposed to care about you would leave. So when Dr. Hamilton asked her what she _needed_, she had a very simple answer.

"Nothing."

**There you go! I hope you liked it and that you got some insight into Charlie's character.**

**Also, I REALLY hope that I had Stiles in character enough. I'm not sure that I've quite mastered his mannerisms in text format yet. I can see it all in my head, but he's such a physical person that it's pretty much impossible to convey all that through writing.**

**Please review! I'm not sure how this chapter turned out. I've been suffering from writer's block lately, so I'm kind of afraid of redundancy. I mean, I'm fine with the dialogue bit, but the internal monologue and description are feeling kind of dry to me as I write. Sorry, I'm kind of insecure when it comes to this stuff. Score one for anonymity!**


	4. It's My Party and I'll Die If I Want To

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to myLyricsaremylife, Simone140089, suttonsays, Lojo2014o, ScornedxRose, Plague's Vengeance, and TameTheGhosts for reviewing. And, of course, thanks to BrittWitt16 for being generally awesome in every possible way.**

**Also, I recently got a 'Polyvore' account with the same screen name (i.e. It Belongs In A Museum). I'm uploading my ideas of some of Charlie's outfits if you want to check it out.**

Chapter 4 – It's My Party and I'll Lie if I Want To

Charlie honestly could not understand what the big fuss was when it came to lacrosse. The people at Beacon Hills seemed completely enthralled with it. She was more of a soccer person herself. Old school, honorable soccer to be specific—not the new morally bankrupt version where the guys are constantly 'diving' and faking injuries to get fouls. She remembered watching the 2006 World Cup France vs. Italy game with her dad and screaming at the TV at all of the overly theatrical falls. Before that game she hadn't seen grown men cry that much since her dad and some of his drinking buddies had gotten together, gotten the tiniest bit drunk, and watched 'Field of Dreams'.

Anyways, the point was that Charlie didn't understand why lacrosse was such a big deal at Beacon Hills. As a sport it didn't hold anything in particular over football or basketball or any of the other teams. And when Jackson had sought to 'educate' her on the state of things at their school, she had just smiled back sweetly and told him that lacrosse was just soccer with props. Charlie was sure that the expression on Jackson's face after she had said that would stay with her the rest of her life as one of her happier memories. But whatever her attitudes towards the sport were, they didn't really matter, because she was still being dragged to the bleachers with Lydia clutching her arm like she was afraid Charlie might run away if she let go. Which, in all fairness, was probably true.

"I hope Scott makes first line," Allison murmured from her position on Lydia's other side. "He really wants it."

"Jackson nearly had kittens talking about it at lunch the other day," Charlie said with a loud snort. "I think Scott's pretty much got it in the bag."

"There was no having of kittens," Lydia said coolly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Jackson is the leader of the team. I just hope Scott knows to stay out of his way."

"You don't think Scott's going to get hurt, do you?" Allison demanded, suddenly worried.

"Scott'll be fine," Charlie replied, waving her hand dismissively. "From what you told me the other day he's got the reflexes of the Flash. Plus, scars are kind of hot. Are you sure you don't want him to get just a little bit hurt?"

"Of course not!"

"Are you sure?" Charlie drawled out, raising her eyebrows skeptically. "You could wipe his brow, nurse him back to health. Throw a little Florence Nightingale into the relationship and see where that takes you."

The look of wide-eyed horror on Allison's face made Charlie lose her composure and start laughing hysterically, which, in turn, made Allison glare back. "You are the absolute worst, you know that?"

Charlie, still laughing, waved her off. "Oh, I'm perfectly aware of how terrible I am."

The three of them made their way to the lacrosse pitch just as Coach Finstock began manically blowing the whistle and summoning all of the players into the huddle. Charlie let out a soft snort as she watched the man wave his hands frantically about. He was a bit of a megalomaniac, but unlike Dr. Harris he was a well-intentioned one. Climbing onto the bleachers, Allison sent a wave and a soft smile in Scott's direction, which he returned with such a happily bewildered expression Charlie was half convinced he had gotten a concussion before the scrimmage even started.

Charlie sat down on the bleachers and pulled her jacket in closer around her before looking around at all the faces on the field. Most of them were vaguely familiar, then there were the ones she knew well—Danny, Jackson, Scott—and then there was another one that she had not expected to see at all.

"Stiles?"

Lydia suddenly stopped twirling her hair and looked over at Charlie. "Sorry, what was that?"

Charlie pursed her lips and shook her head dismissively. "Nothing. Just talking to myself."

Coach Finstock ran through his inspirational monologue which Charlie couldn't quite hear but by all appearances was extremely impassioned given the number of times he hit the players, and then blew his whistle again to signify the start of the came. A small cheer erupted from the crowd and the players dispersed across the field like somebody was breaking a rack in pool.

And then they were off. It was a bit dizzying, actually, how quickly the ball moved around. It was like watching tennis—head jerking around to keep track of what was going on—but there were a ton more players on the field that had to be taken into account. Charlie didn't pretend to know much about lacrosse, but if her degree of confusion was in any way proportional to their skill as a team, then they were pretty damn good.

All of the sudden the ball stopped moving and Charlie was able to reorient herself. It had come to a halt in the netting of Scott's lacrosse stick. He stood there for a moment and stared at the ball, like he was unsure of what to do with it. After a few seconds, though, he seemed to come to his senses and took off running. But he didn't manage to get all that far. He managed to take a few strides before being unceremoniously rammed to the ground. Allison let out a low hiss and clenched her hands into fists in worry. Charlie leaned back and gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder, making her press her lips together in a thin line and give a slight nod of thanks. Lydia, on the other hand, was beaming widely at the field as the player who knocked Scott over removed his mask, revealing himself to be the one and only Jackson Whittemore.

What unfolded after that was the standard male posturing that one usually sees in high school teen melodramas. Every time one of the two boys had the ball, the other was right nearby. Jackson scored. Scott scored. Scott stole the ball from Jackson. Jackson blocked a goal. And the whole thing was accompanied by a host of angry glares and rude hand gestures. It occurred to her that this whole rivalry thing was going to get seriously awkward seeing as the two of them were actually on the same team. Charlie contemplated walking up to the two of them and offering to go get a measuring stick to settle the whole dispute, but Lydia's arm was still linked through hers holding her firmly in place.

Finally, as if the universe wanted to bring the competition to a peak, Jackson and Scott were paired against each other in the face-off. The second the coach blew the whistle, Scott took off with the ball. Sprinting down that field he kind of looked like a ballerina wearing excessive amounts of padding the way he managed to dodge through all of the opposing players. As he approached the goal, the entirety of the defensive line came at him forming a wall. Charlie expected Scott the pull out another one of his evasive maneuvers and spin around them or something, but instead he continued straight at them. Charlie winced slightly, preparing for contact, but it never came. He launched himself into a back flip, spinning over the heads of the other three, and perfectly stuck the landing. Charlie felt jaw drop open and shock as Scott sent the ball flying easily into the net through the legs of the dumbfounded goalie. But nobody looked more confused than Scott. He wheeled around, taking in his surroundings, as if to confirm that what he thought had just happened had, in fact, happened.

The entire crowd—Charlie included—jumped to their feet. "Did you see that?" Allison demanded, jumping up and down and clapping enthusiastically. "That was incredible! I have never seen anything like that in my entire life!"

"Yeah," Lydia agreed, almost totally hiding her begrudging tone. "It was pretty amazing."

"I'll tell you what," Charlie said through a laugh, "if he doesn't make first line, he's got a pretty solid audition performance for Cirque du Soleil."

The coach called Scott over and started yelling. Charlie was fairly certain the phrases 'what the hell was that' and 'this is not the gymnastics team' were used, but after a few moments of the coach being his usual inflammatory self, a wide grin split across his face and he gave Scott an encouraging smack on the shoulder. He had made first line. The announcement was followed by another burst of applause and Charlie scanned the crowd.

She saw three faces that were not participating in the celebration. The first was Jackson, which was to be expected. As big and tough as the puffed himself up to be, he had one of the more fragile egos she had ever encountered. The second was a guy she didn't recognize standing on the opposite side of the field. He looked to be a few years older than her, ruggedly handsome, with his hands firmly shoved in the pockets of a black leather jacket and a stern scowl on his face that made it appear as if his smile muscles had been paralyzed on a permanent basis. The third face was a complete surprise. Stiles. He stayed seated on the bench despite all of the people jumping up and down around him. Charlie's clapping faltered slightly as she took in his appearance. He wasn't bitter or resentful or exhibiting any indications of the typical testosterone-induced jealousy. No, what he appeared to be more than anything else was worried.

After the reveal of Scott's newfound lacrosse awesomeness—Charlie attempted to coin the term 'lacrawesomeness' but Lydia kept hitting her over the head every time she said it—and Scott's induction to the first line, Charlie largely lost interest in the game. Jackson and Danny both made first line, and Stiles seemed pretty much resigned to his position on the bench, which may have been the reason for his generally forlorn expression, but for some reason she doubted that. She had meant to ask him about that, but he disappeared immediately after the game ended.

A few offers of congratulations and some Jackson-Lydia kisses, Charlie found herself being driven home and dropped off in front of her house. "Now remember you promised to come early," Lydia reminded forcibly as Charlie got out of her car. "You said you'd handle the music selection and I'm going to need help setting up. I am _expecting_ you to be early."

Charlie slammed the car door shut and leaned in through the open passenger-side window. "When have I ever let you down?"

Lydia raised a single eyebrow and gave her a withering look. "Two days ago. When I held up a curling iron and you asked 'what's that?'"

"Ah," Charlie interjected, holding up a single finger to cut her off. "That's the last time I _disappointed_ you. I disappoint you all the time. I'm asking when was the last time I let you down."

Lydia pursed her lips and drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. "Never," she breathed out reluctantly.

"Exactly. Never. So I'll see you in about an hour." Charlie straightened and moved towards her front door, pausing for a moment to rap her knuckles against the hood of the car. Pulling her keys out, she unlocked the front door and pushed her way into the entryway which led directly to the living room. What she saw when she made it in caused her to jump in surprise.

Dresses were everywhere. They were laid out on the sofa, they were hanging from the entertainment unit that housed the TV, they were hanging from the handrail of the stairs—it was an invasion. Gaping slightly, Charlie dropped her keys in the designated bowl next to the door and took several small, hesitant steps forward, terrified that one of the dresses was going to come to life and strangle her. "Aunt Mel?" she called out hesitantly, still taking careful steps forward. "Aunt Mel, what's going on?"

Charlie heard the clacking sound of heels against hardwood floor grow nearer until Melody appeared from the kitchen, looking incredibly pleased with herself. "What do you think?" she asked happily, spinning in a circle and gesturing at all the dresses.

Charlie's mouth hung open slightly and she readjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "I'm thinking that you might need to raise my allowance so I can pay your bail when the cops pick you up for shoplifting."

Mel scoffed and rolled her eyes heavily, but the slightly peeved expression only lasted about half a second before it was replaced by another sweet, genuine smile. "Don't be like that, Charlie," she murmured quietly. "I mean what do you think of the dresses? I brought them back from the shop for you to try on."

"Why?" Charlie asked, her voice colored in confusion.

"Why?" Mel repeated, this time with her mouth hanging open slightly. "Well for the party tonight, of course! It's your first high school party, and it's my job to make sure that my niece looks absolutely spectacular."

"I have been to high school parties before," Charlie said, peering at all the dresses from her position at the center of the room. "I was never a complete social leper."

Mel sighed and grabbed one of the dresses before walking over to Charlie and holding it up to her frame. "I know you weren't, Charlie. But this is your first party _here_ with your new friends. I remember high school—it wasn't too incredibly far off for me—and first impressions do matter. It's not something I like, but that's the way of it."

"I've been in school a week," Charlie muttered, looking down at the fabric being held to her. "The first impression is pretty much out of the way."

"Well you only get one chance to make a second impression," Mel said wisely, going to get another dress. "Now I got everything I thought would suit your coloring, but I know that there's one or two styles here that you probably won't be particularly partial to. I figured I might as well bring them to try—better safe than sorry. But you'd look fantastic in any of them."

There was a flurry of activity as Mel moved around the room, arranging and rearranging the dresses in order of perceived suitability, every once in a while picking one up and bringing it over to Charlie. It kind of made Charlie feel like one of those creepy, life-sized Barbie dolls, but she understood why Mel was being so obsessive when it came to clothes and her going to this party.

When it came to looking after a teenager, Mel was kind of at a loss. She couldn't cook, she had no idea how to help with homework, and she wasn't particularly good at being a disciplinarian. For the most part none of that mattered—Charlie was a largely self-regulated individual. She always finished her homework and studied for tests, she did her own laundry, she wasn't a terrible cook—her dad worked such long hours that she ended up making dinner most of the time—so Charlie had everything pretty much under control. But she knew Mel felt like she should be doing more for Charlie and that she was hard on herself when it came to the role of caretaker. If Charlie was being honest, Mel did have a lot of holes in her knowledge, but if there was one thing Mel was good with, it was clothes. And if letting Mel dress her up like a doll made her aunt feel more secure, then she was all for it.

Charlie walked over to one of the dresses laid out on the couch and ran her fingers over the fabric. It was a beautiful dark blue—almost black—like the night sky, strapless, that came in at the waist and had a slightly poofy skirt. It wasn't Charlie's style at all, but she picked it up anyway and turned to her aunt with a wide smile. "Why don't we try some of these on?"

Mel beamed and nodded enthusiastically before picking up a pile of dresses and thrusting them into Charlie's waiting arms. After about forty minutes, fifteen dresses, and some more makeup tutorials—with a teacher that was decidedly more civil than Lydia—Charlie and Mel settled on a simple, sleek, sleeveless dress that slipped easily onto Charlie's slim figure, hugging what little curves she had in a flattering but not overly suggestive way. It was lined in black with a colorful print of the Empire State Building and Manhattan skyline on the front, and hung to about mid thigh. Mel stood behind Charlie as the girl looked in the mirror, a radiant grin on her face.

"There," Mel proclaimed, sounding incredibly proud of herself and placing a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "I think that suits well enough."

Charlie covered her aunt's hand with her own and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. "Thanks, Mel," she said with sincere gratitude. "It's perfect." Something in Mel's face changed slightly, and Charlie could swear she saw moisture forming in the corner of her eyes. "Mel, are you crying?" she demanded with a little bit of a laugh.

"No," Mel said insistently, wiping at the corners of her eyes as surreptitiously as possible. "Now you get out of here. Lydia's expecting you, and honestly that girl scares me a little bit."

Charlie let out a light laugh and turned around, throwing her arms around her aunt and enveloping her in a huge hug. "Thanks Mel," she whispered into the woman's shoulder.

"Oh, stop," Mel muttered back. After one last squeeze, the woman took a step back and grasped Charlie by her shoulders. "Okay, now remember if you need anything, you can call me. I programmed my number into your phone as speed dial number one. The police is speed dial number two. Now if—"

"Mel the party is literally across the street," Charlie reminded her, raising her eyebrows poignantly. "If I need anything, I'll just come home."

Mel twitched slightly and smiled at Charlie's use of the word 'home', and then pushed the girl back a bit. "Time for you to go," she said, wiping her eyes again. "And if you don't have fun, you'll have me to answer to."

Charlie winced in mock fear. "I guess I'll just have to have fun then. I wouldn't want to brave the wrath of Melody Oswin—you might bake me oatmeal raisin cookies instead of chocolate chip ones. It would be the end of the world as we know it."

The sun was just starting to go down as Charlie walked across the street—flash drive of music to be played in hand—wobbling slightly in her borrowed, bright yellow heels in a way that was probably comically similar to a baby deer learning to walk. Approaching Lydia's house, her mother's Mercedes was conspicuously absent. She had decided to go for a spa weekend on the first week of school, which either meant she was completely oblivious to how teenagers operated or just simply didn't care. From what Charlie could tell about the woman, it was a little bit of both.

As she reached forwards to knock on the door, her phone started blaring out a generic ringtone. She dug it out of her purse and saw Allison's name flashing across the call screen. That's right, she hadn't chosen a song for her number yet. She quickly hit the send button and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Hey, Allison," she said cheerfully into the receiver. "What's up?"

"What's up is I'm freaking out!" Allison's panicked tone crackled out. "I'm kind of losing it Charlie. Scott's going to come by in like two hours and I haven't showered yet and I have no idea what I'm going to wear and I'm not going to know like 90% of the people at the party and—"

"Allison, you need to calm down," Charlie said in a slow moderated tone. "Just breathe. Find yourself a paper bag or something."

"I don't need a paper bag," Allison sighed out. "I need help."

"No you don't," Charlie continued with the same calming cadence. "Have you seen the way Scott stares at you? It would be creepy if it wasn't so adorable. You could wear a burlap sack and he would still think you were Helen of Troy's hotter sister."

"But what if—"

"Allison," Charlie interrupted. "You're going to be fine. You don't even have to talk to anyone new if you don't want to. Scott will be there and the two of you can make googly eyes at each other all night. And if that doesn't work out, then you can find me. If disaster strikes—bubonic plague, you spill something on your outfit, a hangnail—I live across the street. We can just go over to my house and watch romcoms in our pajamas while eating obscene amounts of ice cream. Okay?"

There was a short pause on the other side of the connection followed by a calming sigh. "Okay."

"Alright," Charlie said, nodding slightly. "I'm going to hang up now. I'll see you at the party."

"Yeah," Allison said in a newly determined voice. "See you at the party." Charlie was about to hand up when the voice chirped through the receiver again. "Hey, Charlie?"

"Yeah, Allison?"

"Thanks."

A smile pulled at the corner of Charlie's lips. "No problem, Allison."

Hitting the 'end call' button, Charlie took the last few steps towards Lydia's front door and knocked three times. After a few moments she heard the sound of footsteps approaching and the door was thrown open to reveal Lydia wearing a purplish dress with thin straps and a full skirt and her hair falling on her shoulders in artful and no doubt carefully constructed curls. She stood there, leaning against the doorframe and blocking Charlie's entrance and looking her up and down. Then, quirking up a single eyebrow in what Charlie could only assume was approval, she stepped out of the way and allowed Charlie to enter.

"Do you have the music?" Lydia inquired, closing the door behind Charlie as she walked through. Charlie pulled the flash drive out of her purse and tossed it to Lydia. Upon catching the little piece of plastic, she held it up and inspected it suspiciously. "There's not going to be anything totally embarrassing on this, is there?"

"Nope," Charlie replied steadily. "I stayed away from everything on your veto list. No oldies, to alternative or folky stuff. Just a bunch of dance music." She opted to leave out the fact that she had included Weird Al Yankovic's 'White and Nerdy' in the mix. The look on Lydia's face would be too priceless to allow for any sort of warning on that front.

Lydia pursed her lips and gave a single, definitive nod. "Good. Then you can help me with the drinks table. We need to move everything from the kitchen to the outside porch near the pool."

Charlie grinned with false enthusiasm and trailed after her, taking a winding path through all of the rooms in her house. She could never get over how big Lydia's house actually was, and she still found anybody's ability to navigate through it completely baffling. Half the time she expected to make a left where she should have made an right and somehow end up in Narnia. When they finally got to the kitchen, Jackson was already there, loading boxes full of bourbon, rum, and various other liquors. When he caught sight of her, he raised his eyebrows in surprise and let out a low, slightly patronizing whistle.

"Wow, Charlie," he called out from the other side of the room. "You actually look like a girl."

She beamed back. "Thanks, Jackson. So do you."

"Alright," Lydia said, throwing her hands in the air. "Would the two of you try to get along for one night? For my sake?"

Charlie made a face and shrugged her shoulders. "Who's not getting along? I think we're getting along fine. Jackson?"

"Oh yeah," he drawled out with a degree of sarcasm and disdain that she thought was reserved for politicians and stand-up comedians. "Me and Chuck are all good."

Charlie let out a loud snort and walked over to pick up one of the boxes. "Since when am I Chuck?"

Jackson smirked back evilly. "Since the two of us became such good friends."

She stood there for a moment holding one of the boxes. "Chuck," she murmured, tasting the name on her tongue. "As far as nicknames go, I kind of hate it."

Jackson picked up a box as well and started walking out to the pool. "Good," he called out over his shoulder. "Then I'm definitely going to keep calling you that."

Charlie laughed and followed him, trying hard not to tip over on her heels. "Does that mean I get to start calling you Jacky? Because I think that nickname's super adorable. It makes you sound like a giant teddybear. Or a teacup pig who becomes an overnight youtube sensation!"

"Chuck, do everybody a favor and shut the hell up. And then get sterilized."

"You got it Jacky!"

The stream of curses that issued out of Jackson's mouth was one of the longer and more creative one's that Charlie had ever heard, and by the end of it she found herself laughing like idiot. That didn't seem to make Jackson all that much happier, but she really couldn't make herself care.

A little over an hour later, they had pretty much everything set up. Music was playing, the drinks table was stocked with enough liquor for a bar filled with 19th century Irish dockworkers to drink themselves under the table, snacks were arranged in strategic positions throughout the house, and there were extra rolls of toilet paper in all of the bathrooms. Yup, they had pretty much everything covered. At about 9:00pm the people started trickling in. Charlie recognized some of them—ironic facial hair guy showed up wearing a bowler hat—but there was nobody there other than Jackson that she actually knew _well_. And seeing as that lovely pair was already making out by the pool, she was pretty much left to her own devices.

So she played the wallflower, standing in the corner, clutching her red cup filled with straight bourbon—bless her genetically high tolerance—and watched the party fill up. When Danny showed up, she hijacked him for about an hour to play a couple of rounds of pool on the ridiculously ornate, claw-footed pool table in what—before the divorce—used to be Mr. Martin's study. But she could only keep him for so long—especially after kicking his ass so thoroughly—so for a while she was left wandering on her own.

For most people, being alone at a party might be an awkward and uncomfortable situation. While it certainly wasn't Charlie's favorite situation to be in, she didn't mind it so much. In her opinion, there wasn't much she was missing out on. It was impossible to hold a proper conversation when the pulse of the music was so loud and the bass was so high it practically felt like it was replacing the cadence of your heartbeat, and Charlie couldn't dance for shit so she completely avoided that aspect of the process. There were a couple of times that a guy—each of which were more than slightly inebriated—got kind of handsy and tried to drag her onto the dance floor. The first two were wise enough to leave her alone when she told them she had super-herpes—'you can catch it _through_ clothing'—and the other one, who wasn't so easily dissuaded, she was forced to put in a thumb-lock till he agreed to be less rapey.

All in all, Charlie was having a pretty decent time, as strange as it might sound. She wove her way through the people dancing to make her way to the drink table, pouring another healthy serving of bourbon. She began moving back towards the house, but before she made in two familiar faces with familiar dopey smiles.

"Hey," she called out, making her way over to Scott and Allison. Scott waved back, still looking kind of dazed, and Allison greeted her with a big smile on her face. Charlie approached them with slightly smug expression. "Scott and Allison. Allison an Scott. It's about time you two crazy kids got it together."

A confused expression crossed Scott's face. "We've only known each other a week."

"Exactly," Charlie said, giving him a cheerful pat on the shoulder. "What took you so long?" Scott flushed red and looked down at his feet, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly in his embarrassment. "Congratulations again on first line by the way," she tacked on. "That shot was pretty incredible.

"Thanks."

The three of them stood there for a while, Scott being adorable and embarrassed, Allison finding it adorable that he was embarrassed, and Charlie being neither adorable nor embarrassed, but finding their little interaction entertaining. She stared down at her cup, contemplating it for a moment before downing the contents. "Hey, Scott," she said, pushing the cup into his hand. "Why don't you get us ladies some drinks? If you roofie them, I'll know."

An expression of absolute horror crossed his face. "I'm not—I wouldn't…Oh, you're kidding."

"Yes, Scott," she said in a slightly patronizing tone. "I'm kidding."

Scott let out a light, nervous laugh and moved towards the drink table, allowing Charlie to turn to Allison. "Soooooo.." she drew out, raising her eyebrows expectantly. "How's it going?"

Allison bit her lip and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. "It's going really, really well actually. He's really sweet. I like him a lot."

The two girls looked over in Scott's direction. He was trying to push his way through the throng of dancers in the most polite and unobtrusive way possible, with limited success. "That's great," Charlie said encouragingly, lightly punching her in the shoulder. "So I take it you're not in need of a social buffer, then?"

Allison flushed slightly and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "No," she mumbled quietly. "No, I think I'm good. You can go ahead and not worry about me."

"Okay, then, I guess I'll leave you to it. Well, if you need anything, I'm just a phone call away."

Allison mouthed a silent 'thank you' as Scott approached, trying with some difficulty to carry three different cups. Charlie smiled and took one of the cups from his while Allison blushed and did the same. "Well, here's to irresponsible fun," Charlie said, raising her glass in the air. "I'll let you two do your thing. Scott, you behave yourself. Because I'm watching you. And so is God. And Santa. It's up to you to decide which is more scary."

Scott let out another endearingly terrified laugh. "You. It's definitely you."

"That's a good answer," Charlie said, patting Scott playfully on the shoulder. "Good work, Allison."

As Charlie moved away from them, making her way back towards the house, she paused at the doorframe and afforded them one last glance, smiling to herself when she saw Allison take Scott's hand. Ah, young love.

Charlie began to feel a comfortable warmth and buzz ringing in her veins. The alcohol was only now just starting to kick in for her, which meant that she was still miles more sober than anyone else at the party—except maybe Scott and Allison who were too drunk on each other to bother with actual alcohol. As she moved inside, she saw that the state of affairs in the house wasn't much less chaotic than the one outside. There were gyrating teenagers everywhere—it was an abstinence-only educator's worst nightmare. She rolled her eyes and took a long sip from her cup, but when she lowered it again, something struck her. There was one face that stuck out, though. It was that same older guy from the lacrosse field with the same sour face and wearing the same leather jacket. And for some reason he was headed straight for her.

"You know Scott McCall," he growled as he came to a stop in front of her. It wasn't even a question, it was a statement of fact. When she didn't answer, the guy took another step forwards and became more insistent. "I saw you talk to him at the lacrosse field."

Charlie opened and closed her mouth a few times in surprise. "Um, to say that I know him is probably a bit presumptuous as it implies some degree of emotional intimacy and I don't think that we're close enough to be friends yet per se. I can say that I'm acquainted with him and wouldn't mind getting to know him but—"

"Where is he?" the guy snapped, cutting her off abruptly. Charlie stood a little straighter and bristled. She didn't like being snapped at, even if the person doing the snapping was an older, hot, mysterious guy.

"What's with the broodiness," she said, waving her finger in the direction of his face. "Are you practicing your 'Blue Steel' for some local fashion catalogues or have you just been sucking on lemons for the past three and a half years of your life?"

The guy took another vaguely threatening step forwards, making her step back in turn. "I need to speak with Scott McCall," he said in a slightly snarly tone. "Where is he?"

"You might want to re-think your approach there, buddy," Charlie whispered back—or whatever the semi-yelling equivalent to a whisper was—while leveling him with a hostile glare. "The whole intimidation thing isn't exactly making me want to do you any favors. What do you want with Scott?"

The guy's back straightened and he looked at her in an oddly calculating way. "I'm here to help him."

"Do you care to elaborate?" Apparently, he didn't. Charlie let out a single, loud bark of laughter. "So a weird, stoic, college age guy waltzes in and tells me he's here to help Scott—no mention of how he's going to help or what he's going to help with—and I'm just supposed to trust that? I have no idea who the hell you are. Sorry pal, but McGruff the Crime Dog has made it abundantly clear that Stranger Danger is a thing." She folded her arms and returned his steely stare with a questioning one of her own. "What's your name?"

The guy stared at her for another moment before simply walking off and disappearing into the crowd of dancers, leaving Charlie standing there, feeling very confused. She pulled out her phone and stared at it for a moment, but wasn't sure what to do. Her first thought was to call Scott, but she didn't have his number. Her second thought was to call Stiles, but she didn't have his number. She did call Allison, but the music was too loud and she didn't answer. She thought about leaving a message, but what would she say? 'Hey, Allison! There's a slightly creepy, hot, broody guy who says he's here to help Scott with something. Okay, then. Bye!' Like that was a legitimate course of action.

And then, miraculously, the solution seemed to present itself. Charlie glanced in the direction of the front door as it opened slightly. Suddenly, the disembodied head of Stiles Stilinski appeared through the small crack, looked to the right and left, and then the rest of him slipped through in a way that was probably meant to be stealthy. As soon as he was in, he quickly closed the door and again looked around frantically like he was expecting a six-foot, two hundred pound bouncer to grab him by the back of his shirt and toss him through a still-closed window. Charlie began to push through the crowd in his direction in an entirely un-subtle manner, but somehow still managed to surprise him.

"Hey!" she called out over the loud music.

At the sound of her voice Stiles jumped and looked at her with a slightly terrified expression, which he tried to turn into a casual one. "Oh, hey there Charlie!" he said giving an awkward wave. "Great party, huh? Everybody seems to be having a ton of fun. I know I am. Yup. Lots of f—u—n—fun. In Lydia's house. It's a party." He waved his hands in the air lamely and then seemed to reconsider, shoving them deep in his pockets instead.

Charlie narrowed her eyes and crinkled up her nose in confusion. "Don't you think that's a bit of a premature assessment?" she asked. "You got here literally fourteen seconds ago."

The huge grin on his face tightened slightly. "Ah, right. Well, what can I say? I'm an optimist." Charlie continued to look at him skeptically and that tight smile faltered. "In the spirit of full disclosure, I may or may not be crashing. I wasn't...exactly….invited to this little shindig. I think the invite got lost in the mail—or the cyberverse—or the note fell out of my locker…but it was definitely, definitely one of those three things so—"

Charlie let out a soft snort smiled slightly. "You're not crashing anymore."

Stiles blinked in surprise and shot her a supremely confused look. "What—what do you mean?"

"I mean as of this moment right now, you're my plus one," she said, raising her cup in his direction. "So you can stop freaking out."

Stiles looked around—again to make sure she wasn't talking to anybody else in the immediate vicinity—and let out a surprised laugh. "R—really? Thanks."

"No problem."

Stiles smiled and began scratching the back of his neck in a nervous way that, if she was being honest—which she never was—she considered a bit cute. "So are you having fun?" he asked, waving a hand in the general direction of the crowd. "Why aren't you dancing?"

Charlie let out an awkward laugh of her own and pushed the hair out of her face. "It's a public safety thing." He shot her a questioning look that made her roll her eyes at herself. "If you'd ever seen me dance, you would get it. Every time I step foot on a dance floor, I kind of look like someone who took a bunch of meth and then got tasered. It isn't pretty, and I'd probably break somebody's nose in the process, maybe pee on the floor—people pee their pants when they get tasered, right?"

Stiles raised his eyebrows and looked at her with an extremely doubtful expression. "I don't think I believe you. Everybody can dance."

Charlie pursed her lips in consideration. "Well there is one move I can do pretty well. I only break it out on special occasions—birthdays, holidays, solar eclipses, that kind of thing."

"Well let's see it," Stiles said, throwing his hands in the air.

"Are you sure?" Charlie drawled out with a mock seriousness. "Do you think you're ready for this?"

"Yeah—yes, I'm ready," he said, nodding fervently. "Hit me with your best shot—but not literally since that's apparently a problem with you."

Charlie blew out a long breath and shrugged her shoulders. "Alright, you asked for it." She held her arms rigidly, elbows bent and twisted around at the waist making awkward jerky movements. "This, my friend," she said to Stiles as he shoved his fist in his mouth to choke back laughter, "this is the 'Broken-Down Robot', and it has not received nearly enough recognition in the dance community." After a few moments she let her arms drop to her sides and stood up straight. "That's it, that's all I've got."

"Well that was beautiful," Stiles said quickly, still fighting back what were probably some very un-manly giggles. "I don't know why you don't just do that all the time."

The two of them stood there for a moment, laughing for a while before Stiles seemed to focus in on the now empty cup she was holding. "Hey, do you want me to get you another drink?"

She held up the cup for a moment in consideration. She'd be fine with one more. "Sure," she said, nodding slightly. "You're going to need something, too. I'll show you where the drinks are."

The two of them pushed their way back to the drinks table, and as they were standing over the veritable assembly line of cups, soda, and alcohol, it occurred to Charlie that she had yet to bring up the topic she had initially intended to broach. "Hey Stiles," she said loudly as he was pouring something clear and not water-affiliated into his cup.

"What's up?" he asked glancing up from the table.

Charlie took a sip from her glass and scrunched up her face into a slightly apologetic expression. "Right before you got here, there was this guy looking for Scott. Black leather jacket, kind of looked like a male model and a loan shark had a baby. He wouldn't tell me his name, but—"

"What did he want?" Stiles asked, suddenly getting anxious in a weird, legitimately panicked way that she wasn't used to.

"N—nothing," she said, shaking her head. "He just said he wanted to talk to Scott. He didn't say what about, and I didn't tell him where Scott was because, you know, Stranger Danger. He just kind of disappeared after that. I just figured I should tell you—you might want to call Scott and tell him somebody's looking for him."

Stiles scoffed loudly and stared into his drink. "Yeah, I've actually called Scott like a dozen times. I think he turned off his phone." He suddenly looked up from his drink and fixed with a serious look. "Have you seen Scott tonight? How was he doing? Did he look okay?"

Charlie made a face and shrugged her shoulders, absently swirling the drink in her hand. "I mean, he looked fine to me. A bit nervous maybe, but that's to be expected on a first date. I know Allison was a bit jittery herself."

"But that's it," Stiles broke in again, still sounding serious. "It just seemed like first date nerves?"

"Y—yeah," she said, suddenly feeling even more confused. "Why, should there be more than that?"

"Nope," Stiles said, shaking his head almost pathologically. "Nope, there's nothing more than that. Just friendly concern for my best friend on his first date with the girl of his dreams."

The two of them walked back into the house in complete silence, taking long sips from their drinks. Stiles eyes were wandering around the party, like he was looking for someone.

"Hey, I'm sorry you didn't make first line," she blurted out suddenly before realizing it probably wasn't the right thing to say. "If you want I'll club Jackson over the head, that way you can take his position. The whole team'll probably get a lot less douchey as a result. Not that you and Scott are douchey."

Stiles stared at her for a moment before a wide grin broke out across his face. "I thought Jackson was supposed to be your friend."

"Well, he is," Charlie replied hesitantly, "but just because he's my friend doesn't mean I actually like him." She paused for a second, considering her own words. "Oh, my God," she whispered to herself. "I can't believe I just said that. I think I actually just became one of the characters in 'Mean Girls'. What has happened to my life? I knew I was better off Tivo-ing 'Starship Troopers' and eating ice cream in my pajamas."

Stiles looked at her in surprise and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Scott came tripping in their direction, looking very much not okay. He was sweaty and his face was contorted in pain like a woman in labor—though she was fairly certain Scott would not appreciate that analogy. Scott was blindly pushing his way through the groups of people, and Stiles moved so he was directly in his path. "Yo, Scott," he said, planting a firm hand on Scott's shoulder. "You good?"

Scott just pushed past him and continued outside, with Allison following soon after. Charlie called out to her and waved her hand, but Allison didn't seem to notice. The music was too loud. "What was that?" Charlie said, turning in Stiles's direction. "Is he okay?"

"I—I don't know," Stiles stammered out. "He has asthma, maybe he was having an attack or something. His inhaler was probably in the car…I should probably go check on him."

And with that, Stiles ran out as well, leaving Charlie totally alone and totally confused. After a few seconds of standing there stupidly, the phone she had been holding onto all night began to buzz in her hands. She looked at it and saw Allison's name flashing across the screen. She quickly hit the 'send' button and pressed it to one ear, plugging the other ear with a finger, and dodged into one of the bathrooms where the music wasn't so loud. She kicked the lid to the toilet down with one of her feet, almost falling off her heels in the process, and perched on the seat.

"Allison?" she half-shouted into the phone. "Allison, what's going on?"

"It's—it's Scott," she replied. Her voice caught between panic and worry. "He freaked out and drove off. He's gone. I really don't know what happened—we were having a good time and…God, I just don't know. I hope he's okay."

"Stiles says he has asthma," Charlie said encouragingly. "Maybe that was it."

"Maybe," Allison whispered, still sounding kind of panicked. "I just don't know."

"Alright," Charlie said with a definitive nod. "Alright, do you want ice cream and romcoms, or do you just want me to take you home."

"I don't want you to have to leave the party," Allison said sadly. "You don't have to stop having fun because of me."

"Pshah, what are you talking about?" Charlie said dismissively. "I hate fun."

A weak laugh crackled through the connection. "That's really nice of you, but you don't have a car. Yours broke down, remember?"

"Yeah, but I could totally steal Lydia's. And I'm completely on the right side of .08 if that's what you're worried about."

"No, really, it's okay," Allison said insistently. "I've got a ride. There's this guy named Derek—he's a friend of Scott's. He said he'd take me home."

"Allison, Stranger Danger is a real thing. If you don't know this guy then—" The words died on her lips as realization smacked her in the face. "What does this guy look like?"

"I don't know…cute, older, stubbly beard, leather jacket."

A feeling of cold dread coiled in the pit of Charlie's stomach. "You said his name is Derek? As in Derek Hale?"

"Yeah, you know him too?" Allison said in a tone of mild surprise. "Look, Charlie, I appreciate the concern, but I'm just going to go. I'll call you when I get home. Bye."

"No! Wait, Allison!" But before she could get the words out, the line went dead. Charlie let out a small scream and stared at her traitorous phone before banging it on the bathroom counter a few times. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror for a half a second before wrenching the ridiculous heel off her feet and running through the party to get to the front door, knocking into more than a few people on her way.

As she skidded to a halt on the front porch of Lydia's house, she was hit with a wave of anger and frustration mixed with more than a little bit of panic. Scott was gone, Stiles's Jeep was nowhere to be seen, and Allison had taken off in a car with Derek Hale, the guy who, according to Stiles, has serial killer eyes—a sentiment which she didn't wholly disagree with.

Swearing loudly and not bothering to go back for her shoes, Charlie started walking across the street towards her house. She was done with the party, absolutely done. And objectively she knew that Allison would be okay, even if Derek Hale did have serial killer eyes. There were enough witnesses to testify to the fact that she left with him that only a complete idiot would bother trying anything, and generally speaking serial killers weren't idiots. If they were they wouldn't be able to evade arrest long enough to become serial killers in the first place. Still, though, she didn't go to bed until Allison called with the good news that she had gotten home safely and the weird news that Stiles had showed up at her door for some reason—presumably also to see if she was alright. And she didn't fall asleep without trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Not that she had any luck figuring it out.

**Please review!**

**So I read through this chapter after I finished writing it and then went back and re-read the corresponding scenes in 'The Wild Side' and still found the two chapters to be a bit similar. I'm really sorry about that, but I guess the context of the show forces the characters into similar scenarios, but I promise as we get out of ep 1, they will start diverging pretty heavily! I swear! Okay, then. That's all.**

**Sorry for spelling/grammar mistakes, bit I suck at editing my own stuff.**

**If you want to see Charlie's dress, here's the link (delete the spaces):**

** stella-leather-paneled-dress-rebecca/vp/v= ?folderID=2534374302152371&colorId=15724&extid=affprg-2178999**

**Also, if you're a Game of Thrones fan, you need, and I mean NEED, to see this video. Search for the following:  
**

Jon Snow - Wildlings ft. Ygritte (Flo Rida / GoT Parody)


	5. Seeing Red

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to ScornedxRose, easythrowaway, xoxozo, Lojo2014o, TametheGhosts, Simone140089, GorditaBossinova, GirlWithNoName, and Vee for reviewing. And, of course, the wonderful BrittWitt16.**

Chapter 5 – Seeing Red

The fact that the next day at school was going to be awkward was completely unavoidable. Charlie would admit to thinking about it once or twice over the course the rest of the weekend. She had spent about twenty minutes on the phone with Allison the next morning talking about what exactly it was that had happened at the party. Actually, to call it talking would be a bit of an overstatement. She really hadn't done much talking. It was more along the lines of listening to Allison go back and forth between wondering if he was okay or if she had done something wrong and the mildest expression of anger and frustration Charlie had ever encountered in her life, with her nodding and saying 'mmm-hmmm' every minute or so. Charlie was never all that good with the emotional advice, but what she could do was listen. She was good at that.

Most of the weekend, though, was spent in pajamas, either doing homework or playing her guitar or watching old, black-and-white movies with Mel while eating ice cream. Lydia was definitely not going to be part of the weekend festivities—Saturday would probably be dedicated to sleeping it off and Sunday would be the panicked cleanup which Charlie was determined to be unavailable for what with all of the incredibly pressing things she had to do. Well, there was one thing she had to do. She had promised herself that she would unpack that box of her dad's old stuff—she had even spent a good hour staring at the thing—but it wasn't time for that yet. Instead she moved the box from where it lay in the corner and tucked it neatly in the corner of her closet. Maybe it that meant she wasn't making progress, but she felt like it was staring at her and she couldn't quite take it anymore.

But when Charlie wasn't listening to Allison or keeping busy with all those little activities, her mind kept wandering back to that party—to what had happened. If she took all of those weird events at face value, it was just freaking weird. Scott may have just had a panic attack, freaked out, and left. From what Allison had said the two of them were just about to kiss before it had happened, and from all of the grumbling Jackson was doing lately, Scott McCall was not someone used to being a lacrosse star or going out with cute girls destined to be at the pinnacle of the social pyramid. It could make sense that he just freaked out and bailed. But then when she threw Derek in the mix, it became more than weird—it became a bit of a mystery. It was a puzzle, and Charlie liked puzzles. Because she could usually solve them, be they little chunks of cardboard in a box, pieces on a chess board, or people. It was only a matter of time, and determination, and she had plenty of both of those.

When it was finally time for school to start on Monday, Charlie knew what her first stop would be. Of course before she managed to get more than five steps away from Lydia's car there was that typical morning exchange with Lydia—the one where Lydia threw out a vaguely hostile comment with regards to her shoes or her hair or one of the other aspects of her appearance.

"What the hell is with the over-the-shoulder braid thing you've got going on?" she had shouted as Charlie stomped towards the side entrance of the school, waving her lovely, un-calloused, .well-manicured finger in Charlie's direction. "The only person who can get away with that kind of crap is Katniss Everdeen, and you don't have her gravitas or her cheekbones!"

Charlie let out a loud snort and turned to face her, walking backwards for a few steps. "You know, before I met you I thought the whole 'all red-heads are crazy' thing seemed like a bit of an urban legend. Since I met you, I'm not so sure."

"Hey," Lydia shouted back, climbing out of the car and heading for the main entrance. "Be nice to me or I'll stop giving you rides!"

Waving her off dismissively, Charlie continued on her way. After a brief stop at her locker, she continued on to Allison's. There were about fifteen minutes left before the bell when Charlie arrived at the locker. So she leaned against the cold metal and waited. And waited. And waited. Scott stopped by his locker on the opposite side of the hall. Charlie saw him look in her direction—the direction of Allison's locker—with a longing sort of expression. She pressed her lips together in a thin smile and offered up an awkward wave. He responded with a rather deflated wave and turned back to his locker. His posture was kind of slack as he loaded his books into his bag and headed back down the hallway to the English classroom. Regardless of his behavior at the party, Charlie couldn't help but feel some sympathy for the guy. He kind of looked like a kicked puppy, and nobody wants to look at that.

About two minutes before the final bell was supposed to ring, Allison came jogging down the hallway, looking a bit flustered. "Hey!" she gasped out, as she quickly dialed in her locker combination. "Thanks so much for waiting for me. I'm sorry I'm late, I just—"

"Wanted to avoid Scott?" Charlie prompted, giving her a knowing look.

Allison sighed and bit her lip, bouncing up and down on her feet for a moment before extracting her head from the interior of her locker and looking at Charlie. "I still don't know what to do about the whole thing. I mean, I'm mad at him about disappearing from the party and just kind of abandoning me there. I should kind of hate him, right? It was a seriously 'jerk' thing to do—I should definitely hate him."

"But you don't," Charlie said simply.

Allison closed her locker and leaned forward, banging her head against the locker. "No," she mumbled, rolling her head to the side so she could look at Charlie. "No, I don't. He was really sweet before everything got awful."

"Well, if it helps he was here staring at your locker longingly," Charlie said, punching Allison lightly in the shoulder. "Whatever the hell it is that happened, he looked pretty sorry about it. Not that you should take my word for it."

Allison sighed again and took a step back from the lockers. "We should go. We'll be late to class."

"So we're a bit late," Charlie said with a nonchalant shrug. "We're learning about Kafka, not stopping a nuclear bomb from going off."

Allison laughed lightly and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "What do you think I should do?"

Charlie snorted and scratched absently at the back of her neck. "Asking me to answer a question like that is kind of like asking a fish to fly or asking Jon Hamm not to be handsome—it's just not in my nature."

Allison smirked slightly and shook her head. "You're no help."

"Not generally, no…." Charlie drawled out. She contemplated heading off to class and letting that be that, but the conflicted expression on Allison's face gave her pause. "Look," she continued, placing a hand on Allison's shoulder, "I can't give you any definitive advice, but I can tell you this. Guys are weird. They do weird crap. They drink pop rocks and Coke to see if their stomachs will explode, they kick each other in the manberries for youtube videos, they'll wear their socks inside out because they think it makes them bowl better—they're weird. A lot of the time they keep it to themselves, especially around girls. I can't say I really know from experience, but my guess is when you start dating a guy you find out about all the weirdness after a couple of months. Maybe you just got to see Scott's weird side a bit early. Either way, you'll never know if you don't talk to him about it."

Allison opened her mouth like she wanted to say something and then snapped it shut again. Readjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder and gave Charlie a weird look. "You know, for someone who doesn't give advice, you give really good advice."

Charlie scrunched up her face into a bemused expression and shrugged. Just then the final bell before classes rang, and Allison's eyes fell closed. "I know I should talk to him, but I don't think I'm ready to just yet."

"Okay, then," Charlie said, pursing her lips in thought. "So for today we'll switch seats. You won't have to talk to Scott or Stiles and you can sort it all out later. Sound good?"

"Yeah," Allison replied through a nod. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Charlie grabbed Allison's hand and dragged her towards the English classroom. When they got there, the room was already filled, the rest of the class was already seated, and Mr. Hobson was already writing on the board. When the door opened he turned to face the two girls, a familiar exasperated-looking expression on his face. "Ms. Oswin, Ms. Argent, nice of you to join us. Five minutes late."

"Sorry we're late," Allison murmured apologetically. "We were just—"

"Take your seats," he replied abruptly, waving them off. "Don't be late again."

There were two seats left open, one at the front near the door and the one Allison usually took behind Scott and next to Stiles. Charlie saw Allison glance over in Scott's direction and was pretty sure they made eye contact, because she turned away quickly and sat at the front seat. Charlie moved to the back and collapsed into her newly designated seat.

As soon as she sat down and began pulling out her books and her pens, Stiles turned in her direction and gave an awkward wave and a slightly terrified nod. She smiled in response and he seemed to relax slightly, like he was afraid she would be pissed at him for some reason. He glanced back at the front of the class to make sure Mr. Hobson was facing the opposite direction and leaned sideways out of his seat. "Hey," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

Charlie scrunched up her have in confusion and shot him a few sidelong glances. "Hey?"

"Sorry about the whole—" he waved his hand around frantically.

"The whole what?" she hissed, her eyes trained on Mr. Hobson's back.

"Y—you know. The whole 'leaving the party' thing with Allison and stuff. Probably not the best way to end a party. Sorry if it….ruined stuff."

"Don't worry about it," she said waving her hand dismissively. Charlie snorted into her notebook and tapped her pen against the paper absently. "You know I have this theory that parties are just an exercise in mass self-delusion. Everything starts out pretty well, but I'm fairly certain nobody ever ends up enjoying themselves by the time its over—everybody just agrees that they do."

"Wow," Stiles said, making a face at her. "That's….like….super-depressing."

"Well it wasn't all bad," she replied, raising her eyebrows teasingly. "I did have some fun. My broken-down robot was getting a little rusty. It was about time I busted out that move again."

"Wouldn't—wouldn't the robot be rusted. Seeing as it's breaking down and all that."

Charlie quickly shoved her fist in her mouth to stifle the hysterical. "That is a genuinely terrible joke."

"Well you're laughing aren't you?" he replied quickly. "Isn't that kind of the point?"

"Yeah but—"

The sound of a throat being cleared cut off her response. She turned back to the front of the class and saw Mr. Hobson staring at her, hands planted firmly on his hips. "Ms. Oswin, that's your second strike today. One more, and I send you to the Vice Principal's office. Do you understand?"

She pressed her lips together in a thin line and nodded fervently. "Yes, sir," she muttered under her breath. "Sorry sir."

"Well," Mr. Hobson continued, taking a few steps in her direction and glowering slightly, "since you seem so eager to talk, why don't you be the first student to share with the class? What were your impressions on 'A Modest Proposal'? If you had any, that is."

Charlie bit her lip and tapped her pen against the paper of her notebook more rapidly, smiling slightly at the typical round of snickering that typically followed a student being singled out. "Well obviously Swift was constructing a scathing indictment of the treatment of the Irish poor in the 19th century through the satirical suggestion that children should be sold to the rich as food. The title on its own is demonstration enough of the hyperbole, only to be reinforced by the use of suggestions for preparation and artificially calculated financial benefits. There were also some further reaching implications for English-Irish tensions during that time period, especially when it came to the religious divide. It was all very _Soylent Green_. Except for the fact that everybody knows it's people." There was a short silence that followed, making her glance around the room and shrug. "At least that's the impression I got when I was reading it."

Mr. Hobson raised his eyebrows at her and folded his arms across his chest. "Well it's nice to know that you're at least paying attention to the coursework when you're _not_ in class. Let's see if I can hold you're attention now. And if I hear your voice one more time during this class period, you'll be joining me for detention this afternoon."

Charlie gave him a half-hearted salute and sank down in her chair. This school seemed to have an overabundance of overly embittered teachers. And the fact that she had now been forbidden from speaking meant that she now could not ask Stiles or Scott the question that she had intended on easing into—namely what the hell had happened at the party. Under normal circumstances she would have tapped Scott on the shoulder and asked him anyway, but Mel would have a freaking heart attack if she got a detention during the second week of school.

Patience was never Charlie's strong suit. During the four periods that preceded lunch, she found her pen tapping on the paper of her notebook increasing in speed as the clock continued to tick. English, Bio, History, Math, each period of 45 minutes dragged on so much each of them felt more like four hours. When the lunch bell finally rang, she shoved all of her things in her bag and made a beeline to the cafeteria.

Once she made her way through the lunch line and piled her tray with as many fries as the vindictive lady with the ladle and sour expression would let her have, she scanned the room. At one of the more central tables she could see Lydia, Jackson, Danny, and Allison already taking their seats. Lydia reached up a hand and gestured for her to join them, but Charlie waved her off. She would be eating lunch with a different group that day. And that group was sitting at one of the more lateral tables by the window looking onto the parking lot.

"Hey!" Charlie said brightly, slamming her tray down hard on the table surface before pulling out her chair. At the loud clattering sound, Scott and Stiles both jumped in their seats. Stiles quickly swiped what looked like an incredibly large, leather-bound book off the table and then sat on it for some bizarre reason.

"Hey, Charlie!" he managed to stammer out, righting himself where he sat. "How's it—how's it going?"

"Been better, been worse," she said simply, popping a French fry in her mouth.

"Don't you usually sit with Jackson and Lydia?" Scott asked confusedly.

"Yeah, generally," she mumbled through a mouthful of food. "I'm here for a reason, though."

Stiles coughed into his hand and blinked rapidly. "And what might that be?" he asked with an awkward wave of his hand.

"I'm here so that I can debrief Scott."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Scott visibly paled and took on a twitchiness that was much more characteristic of Stiles than himself, and frankly she thought it wasn't nearly as endearing on him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally being able to stammer out a confused sentence. "Charlie, that's—that's really flattering and everything, but I like Allison, and um—"

At that and exasperated look crossed Stiles face as he slammed his fist into his forehead and it was Charlie's turn to be confused. And then realization smacked her in the face and she continued to gape at Scott. "Do you—" she turned to Stiles "—does he think I'm asking him to take off his pants?"

Stiles ran his hands down his face and nodded. "That is a distinct possibility, yes."

"Okay, what are the two of you talking about?" Scott interjected, looking back and forth between the two of them.

"Well I'm not talking about your tighty-whities, that's for damn sure," Charlie said through an amused snort.

Scott gaped a little longer and scratched at the back of his neck. "I don't wear tighty—what's happening right now?"

Holding up a finger indicating for Charlie to wait, Stiles leaned over and draped an arm over Scott's shoulder, pulling him in slightly. Charlie raised her hand in submission and went back to eating her lunch while the two of them whispered. "Okay, buddy," Stiles whispered in explanation. "A debrief is basically a military type thing where a soldier or a spy or whatever has to explain what happened on a mission. She was asking you what happened at the party. You should really watch more of the 'History Channel'."

"Oh," Scott mumbled under his breath, turning back to face Charlie. "Why didn't you just say that?"

Charlie let out a laugh and rubbed at her forehead. "I'm wondering the exact same thing," she said tired voice. "So I guess I'll just come right out and ask it, then. What the hell happened at the party? You left in a bit of a hurry."

"Why do you want to know?" Scott inquired, eyeing her with a slight degree of suspicion.

"Because Allison asked my advice about what to do," Charlie replied. "And I suck at advice-giving in general, so if I'm going to even attempt it, I'd like to have all the facts in first."

At the mention of Allison, Scott's moon-faced slightly concussed-looking expression returned and he leaned forwards across the table. "You talked to Allison about me?" he said almost desperately. "What did she say?"

"I'm not going to tell you that," Charlie said, popping another French fry in her mouth. "Bros before hoes, man."

"Okay, just to be clear," Stiles interjected, gesturing between himself and Scott, "we'd be the 'hoes' in this particular scenario."

Charlie narrowed her eyes and looked between the two of them. "No, Scott's the 'hoe'," she said, pointing a slightly accusing finger at the floppy-haired wonder. "You're just hoe-affiliated."

"Hoe-adjacent?" he prompted.

"Exactly."

"Wait a second," Scott said, waving his hand at her. "Why am I the hoe? I don't want to be the hoe."

"Well technically you are Allison's romantic entanglement," Stiles said, giving Scott a pointed look and slapping him on the back. "Under this specific set of circumstances, you are kind of the hoe. Sorry, dude."

Scott scoffed loudly and threw his hands in the air. "Why does anybody have to be the hoe?"

"Oh my God," Charlie breathed out, wiping at her eyes in frustration. "This is so not the conversation I want to be having right now. Can we stop analyzing the metaphor and move on, please? Scott, what the hell happened at the party?"

Scott immediately got cagey and his posture grew more closed off, kind of retreating into himself. He looked distinctly uncomfortable and incredibly guilty. "I can't really tell you what happened," Scott murmured. "I just started feeling….really weird….and I had to get out of there. I shouldn't have just left like that—I knew I shouldn't have and I'm really, really sorry I did. I want to take it back, but I can't." He stared intently at the table surface and traced a finger along it absently. Jesus, this guy was ripping himself to shreds over the whole thing. The last time she had seen a guy get this angsty over a girl, she had been watching a Baz Luhrmann movie. He looked back up at her with those big, sad, puppy dog eyes of his and she actually started feeling sympathetic. "Do you think there's anything I can do?" he asked in a clichéd hushed whisper. "Do you think I can get her to forgive me?"

Charlie folded her arms across her chest and collapsed backwards in her seat. Why did people keep asking her advice? It was way too much pressure. Making her even partially responsible for the outcome of somebody else's relationship seemed like I really, really bad idea seeing as she was so terrible at them herself. But—all of the sudden—her opinion seemed to be in fairly high demand. Well, one thing was for sure. If these people wanted her opinion, they were probably idiots. But what the hell, right? She might as well give it anyway. Though anything that came out of her mouth should probably come with a disclaimer, just so that she couldn't be sued for it at a later date.

Sighing heavily, Charlie leaned forwards on the table and fixed Scott with a serious stare. "All I can say is this: if you don't have an explanation, then tell her as much. Don't try and make excuses or justify yourself—girls can typically see straight through that kind of crap. So if you can't explain yourself, then just apologize. And mean it."

Scott's eyes widened as he nodded earnestly. "I will—I mean I do. Mean it."

Charlie shrugged. "Well that's really all you can do."

A sad sort of silence fell over their little trio. Or at least one third of it was sad—Scott was moping again. Charlie just leaned back from the table and started eating again. Stiles was alternating between eating and drumming his fingers on the table.

"So this is good, right?" Stiles interjected suddenly, slapping a hand on Scott's shoulder and shaking it. "We've got some female intuition working in our favor. With that on our side we can do anything."

"Hell, let's take over the world," Charlie replied, raising a teasing eyebrow at him. "I'd be down for that. I could totally maintain dominion over the earth and all its resources."

"You know absolute power corrupts absolutely, right?" Stiles said through a mouth full of food, spraying some chunks of French fry at her in the process. "You might want to take that in consideration when mapping out your career plans."

Charlie snorted and shook her head. "I find your lack of faith disturbing," she muttered coolly, breathing heavily and theatrically as she said it.

All of the sudden Stiles stopped chewing and gave her the strangest of looks. "Did you just quote Darth Vader at me?"

What followed was possibly one of the nerdier conversations that Charlie had ever had in her life, but she was releasing some of the pent-up nerdiness that had been building up inside of her since she arrived in Beacon Hills. Hanging out with Mel, Lydia, Jackson, and Danny, and even now with Allison hadn't allowed her to fully express that aspect of her personality. Not that she was hiding it or anything—she made references constantly but they all went completely unnoticed, brushed off as her being her random, 'quirky' self. But actually managing to talk with someone about that kind of stuff was a bit of a relief, and Stiles was definitely an enthusiastic conversationalist. For her at least. She hadn't gotten to complain about Jar Jar Binks in a long time. Scott didn't seem to be having all that much fun, though. Being simultaneously ridiculed by two people—one his best friend and one a girl he had known for barely a week—for not having seen _Star Wars_ probably didn't qualify as the best lunchtime discussion ever.

Leaving the table once that bell rang, Charlie decided something. She liked those guys—Stiles especially. They were complete weirdos, and she respected that. In her experience, weirdos were a hell of a lot more fun to be around than normal people. She definitely enjoyed hanging out with them, she just wasn't sure she trusted them yet. She hadn't bothered asking them about Derek Hale because from the moment she sat down she knew anything they told her was going to be bullshit, probably because they had no idea what was going on with Derek Hale either. That was a whole different can of worms. One which she fully intended on opening, but the high school cafeteria was neither the time nor the place.

The rest of the afternoon was a typical, boring school day, filled with knowledge and learning and teachers who had definitely begun to hate their students. After the bell rang, Charlie collected the things from her locker and moved outside, sitting on one of the benches and waiting for Lydia to show up and give her a ride home. She shoved her earphones in and began blasting music in her ears, before closing her eyes and angling her face towards the sun. The heat felt nice on her skin and the light penetrated the thin skin of her eyelids, making everything red. It's what she usually did after school. And then Lydia would waltz by and slap her over the head, telling her it was time to go. But today she didn't get a slap over the head. Today, she got a timid and polite tap on her shoulder.

Opening her eyes and blinking into the light, Charlie's eyes slowly focused on the figure in front of her. "Allison, hey," she said, straightening in her seat slightly. "How's it going?"

The other girl took a deep breath and nodded slightly. "So I saw you talking to Scott at lunch."

"Yeah," Charlie admitted, scrunching up her face and giving her an apologetic look. "I wanted to see what happened at the party. I figured the best thing to do was ask."

"Oh," Allison chirped, furrowing her eyebrows in slight confusion. "What did he say?"

"Nothing specific," Charlie replied, waving her hand dismissively. "I'll tell you what, though. He really is beating himself up about the whole thing. Every time I look at his face it's like watching one of those animal shelter commercials where they play Sarah MacLachlan songs while showing you pictures of sad, homeless puppies. It's rough—no pun intended."

"So you think I should let him off the hook then?" Allison asked, her voice getting a little high-pitched as she looked over her shoulder. Charlie followed the direction of her gaze and saw that Scott was sitting on another bench not far away, wearing his jersey and holding his lacrosse stick. He kept glancing in Allison's direction and his knee was bouncing up and down nervously.

"Again, that's not my call," Charlie said, shrugging her shoulders. "But I do think you should talk to him."

"Okay. Okay, I'll talk to him." Allison spun on her heel and began to walk in his direction.

"Hey, Allison!" Charlie called out after her, making the girl stop and glance back in her direction. "You don't have to be nice to him."

Allison let out a light laugh and continued on her way. As she passed by, Scott jumped to his feet and began trailing after her in a way that made the 'lost puppy' analogy come to mind again. Charlie smiled after them and leaned back in her seat, waiting for Lydia. Problem was, Lydia never showed up. The students slowly filtered out of the school and the cars slowly disappeared, and it was at that point that Charlie realized that Lydia's Beetle was conspicuously absent and that, for the second time that week, Lydia had unceremoniously abandoned her at school.

Whipping out her phone, Charlie sent Lydia a slightly hostile text asking where the hell she had gone. The response she got was a trite little quip stating that it was only fair seeing as Charlie had abandoned her at lunch to hang out with a couple of 'socially irrelevant guys' whose names she still couldn't seem to remember. And when Charlie pointed out that was ridiculous, all she got was silence.

Charlie swore loudly and slammed her phone against her forehead in frustration. Being friends with Lydia was a pretty complicated endeavor. The way she operated, friendship was a game of sums. Somebody always owed—it was a strange combination of a game of chess and a test of wills. Usually Charlie didn't give a crap because she refused to play inside the lines Lydia had painted on the metaphorical field—which she thought was the main reason why Lydia actually liked her—but sometimes the girl could be a massive pain in the ass. Sometimes being now.

After screaming a number of expletives at the phone, Charlie called Mel. Unfortunately that didn't provide any solutions either since she had to stay at the store through close, which meant she might be stuck at the school till 8:00pm at the earliest. As far as she could tell, she had one solution left—one she really hated—and that solution had overly gelled hair, a bad attitude, and drove a Porsche. Ugh. She hated asking Jackson for favors, even something as small as catching a ride home. It always kind of felt like she was making a deal with the devil.

Groaning loudly, Charlie slung her messenger bag over her shoulder and began to make her way around the school to the lacrosse pitch. Most of the team was already on the field doing drills, so Charlie made her way to the bleachers and took a seat. Interrupting Jackson while he was 'in the zone' or whatever the hell he called it generally didn't put him in the mood for helping—not that he was ever in that sort of mood—so she decided to keep to herself until Coach Finstock called for a water break or something. She shoved her earphones back in her ears and straddled the bleacher, pulling out her math books and laying them on the reflective surface in front of her so she could finish her homework.

After a few minutes of barreling her way through parametric equations, a shadow fell over her books. She twisted her head in the direction and saw Stiles standing over her wearing a maroon lacrosse jersey with the number '24' emblazoned across the front. His mouth was moving, but she couldn't hear what he was saying over the music in her ears, so she pulled one of the earphones out and gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry, I missed all of that. What were you saying?"

"What was I saying?" Stiles repeated, rocking back on his heels. "Nothing important. I was just wondering what you were doing here—" he started waving his hands around to indicate the general area of the lacrosse field. "Don't you usually get a ride home with Lydia? While your car still isn't working, I mean."

Charlie rolled her eyes theatrically at the mention of the red-head. "Generally, yeah. But every once in a while she decides that I need to be taught a lesson, which for some reason seems to involve stranding me at school. My aunt doesn't get out of work till 8:00, so I'm here to beg Jackson for a ride. If he says yes it'll be about twenty minutes of him telling me not do damage the suede interior of his Porsche, so that should be fun."

"Well, I can give you a ride home," Stiles interjected suddenly. As soon as the words came out of his mouth he seemed to rethink them, taking a step back and wincing slightly. "If you want one—I mean if you don't want to go with Jackson," he continued, scratching at his neck awkwardly. "It would have to be after lacrosse practice obviously and my car isn't exactly the most comf—"

"That would be great, Stiles," Charlie interrupted, smiling widely to put him at ease. "Thanks, I really appreciate it."

A slight smile began to cover his face as well as he relaxed slightly. "Anything for a damsel in dis—"

"Stilinski!" Coach Finstock's exceptionally loud voice rang out from his position on the field, making her and Stiles turn in her direction. The Coach was standing there, hands planted firmly on his hips and the dreaded whistle hanging out of his mouth. "Hey, Stilinski! I never thought I'd say this to you, but stop talking to girls and get your ass back on the field!"

Stiles flushed red and turned back to face her, a comically big grimace covering his face. "I'm just—I'm just gonna go," he mumbled, jerking his thumb in the direction of the field. "Yeah, I should go."

He jogged back onto the field while Charlie bit down on her lip, trying really, really hard not to laugh. After a few more minutes, she finished her math assignment and swung her leg back over the bleachers so that she could watch the practice.

As much as she hated to admit it, especially after all the ranting Jackson had done, they really were very good. Most of the players appeared to be exceptionally strong and fast. Unfortunately Stiles wasn't one of them. It wasn't that he was slow, because he wasn't….he just seemed to lack the same rigidity and definitive way of moving that the others had. He was so elastic that sometimes she wondered if he had any bones at all. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing per se, but it was unconventional. And unconventional didn't typically inspire coaches—high school coaches at least—to take a chance on a player.

After the scrimmage, the coach lined the players to practice shooting with Jackson acting as defense. And, as with all things these days, it ended up with a McCall-Whittemore face-off. Scott was standing at the front of the line, preparing himself to take the shot, while Jackson suddenly got more rigid—more tense—clearly preparing himself to take Scott down as violently as possible. Coach Finstock blew the whistle and Scott launched himself forward while Jackson stood his ground. Charlie was left thinking that age old question: What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?

Answer: Somebody gets their ass kicked.

Jackson rammed his shoulder into Scott's chest, sending Scott flying backwards a few feet before landing hard on his back. Charlie winced slightly at the sound of him slamming onto the ground. Coach Finstock, however, didn't seem to share her sympathies. He walked over to Scott, who had clambered back to his feet and seemed to be doubled over in pain, and began yelling obscenities in his ear. Charlie rolled her eyes. The man was entertaining as hell sometimes, but he was still an ass.

After a few moments of recovery, Scott jogged back to the front of the line of players to try again. Charlie clapped her hands together in a sort of half-hearted form of encouragement, but soon gave up since he obviously couldn't hear her. Coach Finstock blew the whistle a second time, and Scott sprinted forwards at about twice the speed of the previous run. And this time, when Jackson moved in for the block, Scott barreled straight into him giving rise to a sickening crack.

"Oh, shit," Charlie mumbled under her breath as Jackson hit the ground. That sounded very, very not good. Charlie squinted at the field, waiting to see Jackson's prostrate figure get to its feet and start screaming at Scott, but that didn't happen. Oh, shit.

Shoving the remaining books and pens into her bag, she threw it over her shoulder and jogged out to the field to see what was going on. Just as she reached the impromptu huddle, she saw Scott and Stiles out of the corner of her eye, darting across the field in the direction of the locker rooms. There was definitely something seriously off going on over there. But she opted to ignore them, instead pushing through the circle of burly lacrosse players to get to the center where Jackson was lying on the ground, grabbing at his left shoulder with his face screwed up in pain, with the coach crouching over him. As soon as she got near enough to see what was going on, Coach Finstock looked up from Jackson and stared at her with an expression that immediately morphed from confusion to his typical belligerence.

"Hey—hey you," he said, snapping his fingers and pointing at her.

"Charlie," she supplied, making a face at him. "I'm in your economics class."

"I don't care," he spluttered back. "Get off my field. In case you can't notice, we're a little busy right now."

"I have some First Aid training," she insisted. "I was a certified lifeguard back in San Diego."

The coach blinked up at her for a moment before exploding with that same manic energy of his. "Well why didn't you say that in the first place?"

He moved aside and let her crouch down near Jackson who, upon seeing her, rolled his eyes heavily. "What are you here for, Chuck?"

"Shut up and stay still, Jackson," she muttered, pushing down on his uninjured shoulder. After a few seconds of poking and prodding and unmanly yelps, she sat back on her knees and pushed the hair out of her face, sighing in frustration. "Given the swelling and deformation I'd say it's either a dislocated or separated shoulder—can't tell for sure. He'll need to get an X-ray. We should get him to the hospital if we—."

"No!" Coach Finstock interrupted, pacing back and forth with big, angry, but simultaneously somewhat underwhelming stomps. "No, no, no, no. We have a game on Saturday, and to crush the opposing team, our team has to _practice_. And to practice, we need our captain. He can walk it off."

Charlie let out a loud inelegant snort and gave Coach Finstock a look which probably too impolite for a student to direct at a teacher. "The only time it's advisable to 'walk off' this type of injury is when you're being chased by a horde of ravenous zombies."

Coach Finstock groaned and threw his hands in the air. "You're killing me—you're really killing me. After I die within the next ten seconds, they're going to write on my tombstone 'Here Lies Robert Finstock: He Was Killed By…What's-her-name.' The girl who wouldn't shut the hell up."

"Okay," Charlie said, pushing herself to her feet. "Let me re-phrase this. If we get Jackson to the hospital soon, he might be able to play this Saturday."

Coach Finstock folded his arms across his chest and started bouncing up and down on his feet, his eyebrows pulling together into a contemplative smile. "Well what the hell are you waiting for?" he suddenly exploded, waving his arms around frantically. "Somebody get him to a hospital."

"I'll drive him," Charlie said, reaching down to take the hand attached to Jackson's uninjured shoulder and hauling him to his feet. "The rest of you can keep practicing."

After a lot of groaning and waiting for Jackson to change out of his lacrosse gear—which couldn't have been easy with one arm—the two of them made their way to the parking lot. Charlie was not looking forward to this car-ride. She and Jackson didn't exactly get a lot of one-on-one time. Whenever they were together, they usually had a sort of Cold-War-style dialogue—one would drop an insult, the other would drop an insult, but it never broke out into an all-out fight. But that was when there was someone else present, usually Lydia or Danny, who would act as a sort of buffer. Part of her wondered if they were ever alone together whether that Cold War would turn into all-out battle and they would end up killing each other. They sidled up next to the Porsche and Charlie held out her hand for the keys. Jackson looked at her like she was a raving lunatic and curled his lip slightly.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No Jackson," sighed out, "I'm not kidding. You can't drive with one functional arm. You'll drive yourself into a ditch, which personally I probably find hilarious but Lydia would kill me for letting it happen."

"You are not driving my car," Jackson spat back. "I've seen your piece of crap car. I'm not letting that happen to my Porsche."

"Okay, a) my car is not a piece of crap. And b) the only reason that it isn't functioning is because the spark plugs are older than the two of us combined. It has nothing to do with my driving." She held out her hand again, this time more insistently, and Jackson just looked at it like it was potentially diseased. Charlie sighed and shook her head in frustration. "Alright, how about this: if you get a ride with anybody else, that means your Porsche—you're beautiful, shiny Porsche—will be spending the night here. In a completely un-gated community."

The smirk on Jackson's face faltered slightly. After a few moments of consideration, he swore under his breath and dropped the keys into Charlie's awaiting hand. A sly smile crossed her face as she rounded the car to get to the driver's side. When all else fails, play on Jackson's unabashed fear of poor people.

"So this is an automatic, right?" she called out as she unlocked the car and opened the driver's side door. A look of supreme terror crossed Jackson's face, making her bust out laughing. "Dude, I'm kidding," she managed to cough out between the laughs. "I drive a 1960s muscle car. I know how to drive standard."

"Yeah, well how am I supposed to know that you're any good at stick," Jackson muttered darkly, opening the passenger side door and climbing in.

"Oh, Jackson," Charlie sighed out, sliding into the driver's seat. "You and you're double entendres are so witty. I think I might be starting to get a little crush on you."

"Shut up, Chuck."

"Only for you, Jacky."

They spent about ten minutes in absolute silence, staring at the road in front of the car as Charlie drove to the hospital. There wasn't exactly much of anything to say. Jackson was busy sulking. He had the lower lip stuck out and everything—he kind of looked like one of those clinically depressed Abercrombie and Fitch models, but with a shirt on.

"I am going to murder Scott McCall," he said suddenly, glowering at the dashboard like it had been the one that injured his shoulder. "And I'm going to sue him for everything he's got."

Charlie scoffed and rolled her eyes theatrically. "You're not going to sue Scott."

"Why not?" he growled back.

"Okay, I'm just going to totally bypass logistical issues that would arise when trying to sue a decomposing corpse and move onto the fact that it would make you look like a complete tool."

Jackson made a face and rounded on her with a hostile glint in his eye. "Hey, that idiot maimed me! How would I end up looking like the tool?"

"I don't know, Jackson," Charlie sighed out, her voice thick with frustration. "Maybe it's because you're the big bad captain of the team. Then you finally get some actual competition on the team and you sue him because you got hurt playing one of the more violent sports offered at the illustrious Beacon Hills High. It looks like you're trying to eliminate said competition which, FYI, makes you look like a narcissistic, insecure tool. But that's just my opinion. You can try it out if you want."

Jackson swore loudly and ran his functional hand down his face. "Freaking McCall. I know that asshole is on steroids. There's no way you go from being a pathetic little nobody to that kind of skill without some kind of juice."

Charlie blew out a long breath and shrugged. "Conventional wisdom suggests that milk builds strong bones. Maybe that's got something to do with it."

"Just turn up the damn music," Jackson muttered, reaching forwards and cranking the volume up. Apparently that was the conversational limit the two of them had.

Getting through the hospital was a lengthy and boring, and being forced to listen to Jackson complain about how lengthy and boring it was kind of made Charlie want to shove a pen into her ear and die then and there in the emergency room. But she couldn't. Because she had to use that pen to fill out all of the damn paperwork and insurance information, since apparently neither of Jackson's arms worked.

Finally, it came to be Jackson's turn for medical attention, which was a good thing seeing as she was about to request pain medication to deal with the headache she was getting from Jackson's whining. For someone who put up the big 'tough guy' front, he had an extremely low tolerance for pain. She had dislocated her shoulder three times when she was a kid, and was pretty sure she hadn't complained nearly as much as he had. Though he did have some right to complain. According to the doctor's preliminary analysis, he did, in fact, have a separated shoulder.

Lying down on one of the tiny couches in the waiting room, Charlie draped her legs over the armrest and began kicking them back and forth like a little kid. She dug into her bag and pulled out her phone, ready to call Lydia's number and explain what exactly had happened during lacrosse practice. She steeled herself against the inevitable shriek and was just about to dial the number, when all of the sudden the phone started ringing. She frowned at the screen. The number flashing across the screen of her iPhone was not one she recognized. She quickly hit the send button and pressed it to her eat.

"County morgue, you stab 'em we slab 'em."

There was a short silence before a highly confused and familiar sounding voice crackled out from the other side. "Sor—sorry. I think I might have the wrong number."

"Stiles?" Charlie asked, suddenly confused herself.

"Charlie?" Stiles replied quickly. "Why the hell would you answer the phone like that?"

"I didn't recognize the phone number," she said with a shrug. "I thought that you were a telemarketer or something."

"Why would you answer a telemarketer like that?"

"To freak them out, obviously," she said simply. "Why are you calling me? And for that matter, how the hell did you get my number."

"Scott asked Allison—I hope that's okay."

"It's fine," she murmured. "Just a bit surprised, that's all. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing," he said with a forced sort of casualness. "I just heard that you drove Jackson to the hospital. We were—and by we I mean me and Scott—we were wondering…what…happened with Jackson. How he's doing and all that."

"He's going to be fine," she muttered. "The preliminary analysis says he's got a separated shoulder. They're doing X-rays now. When they're done we'll know whether or not he can play on Saturday."

"Oh, okay," Stiles said, sounding a bit distracted—though that generally seemed to be the norm. "That's good. That he's going to be okay, I mean. Not that he's got a separated shoulder. That is very much not good. Bad, even."

"Ah, I don't know about that," Charlie drawled out. "I think it's probably a good thing that somebody reminded him he isn't a god. How is Scott doing?"

"What—why, why would you think Scott's not okay?" Stiles stammered out, suddenly getting more tense.

"Ummmm, maybe because Jackson took him down pretty hard. And because he was kind of freaking out on the field afterwards."

"Right," Stiles said abruptly. "Well, Scott's fine. Just feeling guilty is all. We just wanted to know if Jackson was alright or not."

"Okay, well he's going to be fine," Charlie replied, wrinkling her nose slightly. More than half of her conversations with Stiles ended with her wondering what the hell had just happened. A silence hung between the two of them, waiting to be filled.

"Sooooo, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?" Stiles finally said. "English class?"

"Sure Stiles. I'll see you tomorrow."

When she heard the distinct click of the hang-up, Charlie pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it for a moment. What the hell was going on with Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski? It wasn't steroids, that was for damn sure. But it was something, and that something was going to turn out to be truly bizarre—that was the one thing she was sure of. Finally, she punched in Lydia's number and listened to it ring.

"If you're expecting an apology for leaving you," Lydia chirped into the phone immediately after picking up, "you're not going to get it. You know that right?"

"Yes, Lydia," Charlie sighed into the receiver. "I would never presume to question your relationship math. You are the mathematics genius-person, after all. That's not why I'm calling."

"Really," Lydia replied in an arch tone. "Are you calling to apologize for bailing on me at lunch to spend time with McCall and that twitchy little friend of his."

"Since when have I apologized for anything ever, especially for some bullshit perceived insult?" Charlie asked, rolling her eyes. "I'm calling from the hospital."

"Oh my God!" Lydia suddenly shrieked, making Charlie pull her phone away from her ear. "What happened? Are you okay? Are you—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, banshee," Charlie said in an even tone. "I'm fine. I brought Jackson. He was injured during practice, he probably has a separated shoulder."

The blind panic in Lydia's voice shifted suddenly into cold rage. "Excuse me?" she demanded harshly. "Saturday is the first game of the season. Jackson is the captain—he can not be injured for the first game of the season. He has to play, and he has to win."

Charlie sighed heavily and wiped at her eyes. This was not going to be a fun conversation. "Lydia, even if he isn't playing on Saturday, you'll still be dating the captain of the lacrosse team. That doesn't change because Jackson sits out a game."

There was a short static- and tension-filled silence. "I date the captain of the winning lacrosse team. Jackson is one of the primary reasons the team is winning. That does change things. Who the hell maimed my boyfriend anyway? I'm going to send them a birthday card filled with Anthrax."

"Why does it matter who was involved?" Charlie asked in a tired voice. "Lacrosse is a violent sport—people get injured all the time."

"Meaning it was Scott McCall," Lydia muttered bitterly, filling in the blanks. "Well it's a good thing we need him on Saturday. The punishment can't be too harsh then."

"Why does there have to be any punishment at all?" Charlie whined, kicking her legs more forcefully as she got more frustrated.

"Because, dear Charlie," Lydia said in her 'wise' voice, "order has to be maintained. And I'm the one who maintains it."

"You are a massive pain in my ass."

"And what an adorable ass it is," Lydia trilled cheerfully. "I'll be down to the hospital in a bit."

"No, don't bother," Charlie responded through a wide yawn. "It's all under control here. Jackson is in the middle of x-rays—I'll take him home afterwards and either Mel will pick me up or one of his parents will drop me off. It's all taken care of. You can go back to painting your nails or writing nuclear launch codes or whatever the hell it is that you do on a weekday night."

There was a high-pitched nasal harrumph from the other side of the line. "Fine. But tell Jackson to call me as soon as he finishes up with the doctor."

"Will do."

"And by the way, Charlie, I sent you a bunch of the pictures from the party on Friday. There's one where you've got Aaron Harrison in some weird kung fu grip thing. Real classy. Real normal." And then, without another word, Lydia hung up. Charlie should probably be used to it by now, but it was always a little jarring.

Charlie wandered over to the vending machines, got a bag of chips and some Reese's peanut butter cups, and collapsed back in one of the waiting room chairs. She ripped the packages open and began nibbling—not the most healthy of dinners but it tasted better than anything Mel would have cooked. After another half hour of intense boredom, Charlie pulled out her iPhone and went to her email, finding the pictures Lydia had sent her. Flipping through the pictures, Charlie saw a huge number of Lydia's self-portraits and photos of her standing cheek-to-cheek with random partygoers, including herself. She actually got kind of giddy when she found the one of her putting Aaron Harrison in the thumb-lock. For some reason the sight of him almost crying was incredibly amusing to her.

For the most part, the pictures seemed like a snapshot of any high school party, but as Charlie went through them, she noticed something odd. A good number of the picture were kind of washed out, like there was a lens flare, each time seeming to originate from someone's eyes. Two someones to be specific—just two out of the entire party. One of them had extremely rigid posture and was wearing a white T-shirt and leather jacket. The other always seemed to be right next to Allison. Derek Hale and Scott McCall. What the hell was up with those two? They obviously weren't friends, but there was some weird unseen force that seemed to keep associating them and dragging them together. Yet another reason to wonder what the hell was going on.

At least Beacon Hills wasn't boring.

**There you go! More Stiles with some Stiles/Charlie bonding and awkwardness (hopefully all was in character). I also wanted to elaborate upon her relationship with Jackson a bit, do some interactions with Charlie, Scott, and Stiles, and for some reason REALLY wanted to write an interaction with Coach Finstock (seeing as he is hilarious and my absolute favorite secondary character). Anyways, as per usual I'm suffering for literary insecurities, but I hope you like it.**

**Forgive any spelling/grammar mistakes. I type think faster than I type and I suck at editing my own stuff.  
**

**Please review! You have no idea how happy reviews make me, and they inspire me to keep writing! They feed the muse who lives in my basement. That way she can stop raiding my fridge and I'll finally get a decent meal.  
**


	6. Tapetum Lucidum

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to ScornedxRose, BananasGoneCrazy42, TameTheGhosts, Micaela M, corazondepapel, stilinskisgirl, easythrowaway, Lojo2014o, xXbriannaXx, and Guest for reviewing. I love you guys! And, of course there is always the lovely BrittWitt16. She is awesome.**

**Okay, so this chapter is a wee bit short, but I guess they can't all be 9,000+ words right? I would have made it longer, but that would just be drawing it out, and I felt like it had a good stopping point so I guess you guys will have to be satisfied with a measly 4,500. I started writing a second part, but it kind of felt I was just pasting two distinct units together. Anyways, sorry for shortness. Honestly I typically in my other stories write chapters 4,000 to 6,000 words, so chapters might get a little shorter. It all depends on where I think each one gets the best closure. Eek, sorry for the long rant. This AN is going to end up longer than the chapter. Okay, I'll stop now.**

Chapter 6 – Tapetum Lucidum

Tapetum lucidum. If you said the two words out loud together, it sounded kind of like an elaborate, slow-motion sneeze. Technically if you translated it from the original Latin, it meant "bright tapestry", but that particular combination of words didn't mean anything to anybody. But, for the past few days, those two words had held a bizarre sort of significance to her life.

The tapetum lucidum was quite a remarkable piece of biology. It was a layer of tissue that existed inside of the eye right around the retina. Basically its function was to catch light and reflect it within the eye, so that an individual could see better in the dark. It was the same thing that made animals eyes' glow, like when you're driving in the dark and you see flashes of eyes in the brush on the side of the road. It was also the reason that when you take pictures of animals—the raccoons that constantly flipped over the trash cans, the neighbor's dog, her old cat Chairman Meow that used to pee on everything—every time, the photo would come out with some sort of lens flare around the animals' eyes.

After Charlie had gotten back from dropping Jackson off at his parents' house, she had gone into the back of the closet and opened up that box she had tucked away in the corner. It wasn't to unpack any of the keepsakes within—that old pair of Aviator sunglasses, the set of shell casings from WWII bullets he had converted into salt and pepper shakers, his wedding ring—all of that stuff stayed firmly in place. Instead she pulled an old photo album, one of the cheap ones with plastic coating, and flipped though it until she came to a picture of her eight-year-old self holding Chairman Meow. Pulling her phone out of the pocket of her jeans, she held the photos of the party up to it to compare. Yup. The weird laser eyes on her cat were the exact same as the ones she saw on Scott and Derek Hale.

There was just problem. Humans didn't have a tapetum lucidum. So unless Scott and Derek were planning on transferring to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, there was something wrong with that scenario.

Charlie leaned forward, resting her forehead against the glass of the vending machine and staring at all of the options inside. It was the second time in three days she was in the hospital to deal with Jackson's arm, and that meant that she and the vending machine were quickly becoming fast friends. They had the same taste in food, and that was a pretty strong basis for a relationship. Sometimes Bob—she had decided to name him Bob—would even give her an extra candy bar for free. But there was one little quirk in their interactions. Bob always had a lot to offer, but Charlie wasn't always sure what she wanted—chocolate, chips, those weird cheese crackers with peanut butter, there were just too many choices. So she shoved a few dollars in the machine and blindly pushed buttons until she heard the whirring of the machine and the thunk of something hitting the bottom.

"Snickers, nice," Charlie said, leaning down to pick up the two candy bars. She patted the front of the machine before heading back down the hallway. "Thanks, Bob. Good choice."

Heading back down the hallway, Charlie shoved one of the candy bars into her bag and opened the other, taking a big bite out of it. Chocolate. It was the one thing that could get her through this little hospital visit. Other than whiskey, but Charlie was pretty sure that wasn't readily available in the ER. Lydia had been more of a pain in the ass than usual with her rants about Scott McCall—both about him injuring her boyfriend and his apparent refusal to play the game tomorrow—and about Jackson's need to 'go pro'. Charlie kind of felt like pointing out the fact nobody really cared about professional lacrosse—that she wasn't even sure if there were any professional lacrosse teams—but she didn't feel like having her eyebrows burned off, so she kept that thought to herself.

As Charlie arrived back in the waiting room, Lydia was chatting away on her Bluetooth to one of her seemingly endless supply of 'friends'. She was probably in the process of emotionally manipulating Scott into playing the game Saturday, using Allison as bait, but Charlie chose not to dwell on that fact. As a rule, Lydia didn't share those types of plans with Charlie and Charlie didn't ask about them, mostly because Lydia knew that Charlie would get pissed at her and Charlie knew that there was nothing she could say or do to get Lydia to modify her behavior. They were both equally stubborn on the issue, so they just opted not to talk about it—kind of like how nobody ever discusses politics or religion at family gatherings. The only outcome would be a big fight, and everybody would leave angry.

Rolling her eyes and sighing heavily, Charlie began to move towards her empty seat next to Lydia's, but her path was abruptly cut off as a tall, slightly gangly figure slid in front of her. Charlie smiled slightly as she found herself looking at the back of Stiles Stilinski's head. He was as good as an excuse as any to stop listening to Lydia's pouty monologues or her half of the conversation with various lacrosse players. She reached forwards to tap him on the shoulder, but before she could he broke out into a bit of a rambling speech during which she retreated back to lean on the main desk.

"Hey, Lydia!" he blurted out breathlessly, leaning a hand against the wall in a way that was probably meant to seem casual. "You probably don't remember me…um…I sit behind you in biology?" He paused for a moment, waiting for Lydia to respond, which, of course, she didn't. "Uh, anyway," he barreled on, "I always thought that we had this kind of connection. Unspoken, of course."

Charlie caught somewhere between a smile and a grimace, slammed her fist into her forehead—call it sympathy facepalming. Stiles had a crush on Lydia, the poor misguided idiot—a term which she used only in the best possible way. Lydia was smiling and nodding in Stiles's direction, twirling her hair absently. Given slightly vacant expression on her face, Charlie could tell she was still on the phone, but to someone caught unawares it could be misconstrued as tacit interest.

Stiles cleared his throat, removing his hand from the wall and replacing it again, trying to come up with the most nonchalant posture possible. "Soooo, maybe it would be kind of cool to, uh…..get to know each other a little better."

Lydia let out a soft, superior laugh, and brushed her long, curly curtain of hair to the side, revealing the Bluetooth. "Hold on, give me a second," she muttered to whoever it was on the other end of the phone and removing the small piece of hardware. She turned back to Stiles, her eyes slightly narrowed with what looked like a mixture of frustration and condescension. "Uh, yeah, I didn't get any of what you just said," she bit out, waving a hand in Stiles's direction. "Was it worth repeating?"

Stiles let out an awkward laugh and scratched at the back of his neck. "Uh, no," he stuttered out. "Sorry." He took a few steps backwards in Charlie's direction, still looking at Lydia, and gestured at another set of chairs. "I'm gonna sit….you don't care." He finally turned around fully and found himself face-to-face with Charlie, causing him to jump slightly.

"Waaaa-uhhh, hey Charlie!" he exclaimed a little too loudly. She smiled and gave a slight wave, allowing him a chance to collect himself. Recovering slightly, he panted his hands on his hips, nodding at her in a jittery way. "How are—how are you doing? How's life treating you? School going good?"

"School's fine," she said simply, nodding along with her words. "Not much has changed since the last time you saw me in fourth period chem class which was….." she checked her Avengers swatch watch for the time "…six hours ago. Yup, pretty much the same."

"Great! Um, why—why are you in the hospital?" he stammered out, making Charlie frown slightly. It seemed to her that each and every one of their conversations started with one of them asking the other why they were where they were. It always gave Charlie the distinct impression that she was walking in on or interrupting something. Though, to be fair, this time she actually was.

"The spark plugs from my car aren't coming in till next Wednesday," she replied with a shrug, readjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "Until then I go where Lydia goes, and Lydia goes pretty much where she wants. I think I've said it before, but being friends with her is kind of like Stockholm Syndrome—she drags you around a lot and then you start to sympathize with her even if it's against your best interests. Jackson's getting some sort of anti-inflammatory meds for his shoulder."

"Right, the game—the big game," Stiles said waving his hands enthusiastically and planting them back on his hips. The air filled with an awkward silence and Stiles removed his hands from his hips, instead shoving them deep in his pockets. "Soooo," he drawled out hesitantly, "I'm guessing there's not even the slightest chance that you didn't hear all that." He jerked his head in Lydia's direction.

Charlie winced and gave Stiles an apologetic look, though her ill-concealed smile likely made it to the surface as well. "Yeah…..I'm afraid so."

Stiles let out a loud groan and rocked back on his heels, staring up at the ceiling. "Well that's just...awesome. I can't imagine how this could possibly get more awesome. The awesomeness of the situation is really overwhelming." He collapsed in one of the waiting room chairs right around the corner from where Lydia was still sitting, chatting on her phone, and picked up a pamphlet, sliding down in his seat and holding it up to cover his face. Charlie had to choke back another laugh when she saw the word 'MENSTRUATION' spelled across the front in big, bolded letters. She hoped that he was only pretending to read it. In her experience, any sort of talk about periods or tampons turned guys into weepy puddles of awkward discomfort.

Moving around to Stiles's other side, Charlie sat in the chair next to him and dug around in her bag. "Snickers?" she asked, holding the candy bar out as a sort of peace offering. After a few moments, Stiles's eyes appeared peeking out over the top of the pamphlet and eyeing the chocolate suspiciously. "It doesn't have a razor blade in it," Charlie said drolly, waving it back and forth in front of his face like she was trying to hypnotize him. "The vending machine likes me—it keeps giving me extra snacks. Do you want it or not?"

After a few more seconds of contemplation, he grabbed it from her, opened it, and shoved it in his mouth so quickly she was half-convinced he ate some of the wrapper along with it. It might be a little bit of a cheat, but Charlie had come to understand that one of the ways to put Stiles in a better mood was to feed him.

"Soooooo," Charlie drawled out, not entirely aware of where the conversation should go from that point, "I guess you have a bit of a crush on Lydia then."

Stiles snorted and took another big bite of the candy bar. "What gave me away?" he mumbled sarcastically and almost incoherently as the caramel practically fused his teeth together.

Charlie pursed her lips and shrugged. "Little things. The fact that the first words I ever heard you speak were 'Lydia Martin is the best thing that ever happened to Beacon Hills'. I might be paraphrasing that a bit, but the sentiment is pretty much the same. And, now that I think about it, you say her name a lot. 'Don't you usually eat with Lydia', 'doesn't Lydia usually drive you home,' it's all coming together now. And then there's—"

"My recent self-inflicted humiliation?" he prompted, indicating to the spot where he had delivered his ill-advised speech.

Charlie frowned and bit her lip. "Well I wouldn't go that far," she murmured. "Plus Lydia didn't hear any of it, so it's not like you've got anything to worry about."

He sighed and ran his hands down his face. "I know what you're thinking."

"I highly, highly doubt that," Charlie said, raising her eyebrows at him. But Stiles didn't seem to hear her and just barreled on in another one of his endearing rambling monologues.

"You think I'm that clichéd dweeb who has a crush on the pretty popular girl who doesn't know he exists."

Charlie bit her lip and gave him a sympathetic look. "No offense or anything Stiles, but isn't that kind of the case. Except for the dweeb bit."

"Yeah, I guess it is," he said, bouncing his leg up and down nervously and staring intently at the floor in front of him. "But I don't like her just because she's pretty and popular—that would be totally lame. She's also like the smartest person in existence, which is pretty terrifying itself. And when she gets out of this 'pretending to be an idiot' phase and realizes what actually matters, she's going to end up being even more incredible than she already is—she's like a force of nature or something. Has been since we were kids. She's out of everybody's league, not just mine."

By the end of the short speech, Charlie found that her mouth was hanging open slightly and quickly snapped it shut. From what she already knew of Stiles Stilinski, she hadn't expected his crush on Lydia to be the superficial type. But she also hadn't expected him to see through all of Lydia's bullshit. She was pretty sure nobody else did—not her parents, not the lacrosse team or Allison, not even Jackson. And Stiles Stilinski did. Charlie had liked the guy before what with all of his endearing awkwardness, but now….now she had a different, deeper sort of appreciation for him. Charlie wasn't sure if she had ever seen something so simple and genuine before. She sure as hell had never felt it before, so watching it play out was kind of intimidating to her. Caring about Lydia in that way was probably a fool's errand, but Stiles did it anyway. And he did it well.

Charlie let out a long, low whistle and shook her head. "I thought I was the only one who noticed," she murmured quietly.

"Noticed what?" Stiles asked, finally looking at her again.

"The fact that Lydia's a super-genius," Charlie replied idly. "She might not pay any attention to you, but you understand her better than anyone else I know, which is saying a lot when it comes to someone who's got that many walls up. You're a really perceptive guy, Stiles." Stiles gave her a curious look and she smiled back, punching him in the shoulder. "Can I say what I was actually thinking now?"

"What?" Stiles said, blinking in confusion before nodding quickly. "Oh, yeah. Sure."

Charlie smiled wider and elbowed him in the side. "I was going to say that I wish that Lydia would get her head out of her mind games long enough to notice the people worth noticing."

Stiles blinked again and looked around, trying to see if there was anybody else around. "Me?" he asked, pointing to himself with a pleased expression covering his face. "Are you talking about me?"

Charlie rolled her eyes and let out an amused sigh. "No, the guy in the corner over there with the foil hat on his head," she said sarcastically, gesturing at a twitchy guy in the corner. "Yes, Stiles, I'm talking about you. And hey, between that and the Scott- Allison storyline, you'll probably be getting a lot more face time with her and she'll be able to get out of her own way and see that. One word of advice though—never ever use the word 'connection' again when referring to anything romantic. It sounds like you're a) a stalker or b) trying out an internet dating site. Neither of those seem particularly appealing to me."

Stiles let out an uncomfortable laugh and began nodding again. "Duly noted. Henceforth .that word will be completely removed from my vocabulary. No more 'connections'." He shot her a few sidelong glances, wincing slightly. "Can you do me a huge and not tell anybody about that? Like ever? Like if Colombian drug lords invade Beacon Hills, kidnap you, and start torturing you, you will still tell nobody."

Charlie snorted and threw her hands up in submission. "_Bros antes azadas_, man."

Stiles gave her a funny look eyed her suspiciously. "Bless you?"

"That's 'bros before hoes' in Spanish," she responded wisely. "The Columbian drug lords will never break me. And don't worry, you're the bro in this scenario. The Columbian drug lords are the hoes. Though I probably shouldn't call them that to their faces."

"So you speak Spanish now too?" Stiles said raising his eyebrows at her.

"¿_Dónde está la bib__lioteca_?" Charlie replied, looking at him with wide, earnest eyes. "_Me gusta el queso. El caballo está saltando_. " Stiles stared at her a moment before busting out into laughter, with her soon following him. "That's it," she replied through giggles, shrugging her shoulders. "That's all the Spanish I've got. I learned most of it from watching reruns of 'The Love Boat' during sick days when I was a kid."

"Well it was inspired," Stiles said through a snort. "Really, it was beautiful."

"You should hear me read the menu at an Italian restaurant," she replied through a laugh, waggling her eyebrows. "It's like poetry, really. My description of the fettuccine alfredo will make you cry. And not just that single, solitary tear coursing down your face that can actually be kind of hot in a vulnerable way, I mean ugly cry. Face all blotchy, flem everywhere—"

"Remind me never to eat Italian food when you're around," Stiles managed to cough out. "It sounds really traumatizing."

"I get it," Charlie murmured, patting her mouth in a theatrical yawn. "Big manly men can't cry in public."

"That's exactly the problem," Stiles said, latching onto her words and nodding enthusiastically. "I am a big strong manly man. That is definitely the biggest one of my character flaws."

Charlie started laughing uncontrollably, until the ultimate buzzkill entered the room. Just then, Jackson waltzed by them, rolling his shoulder and glaring slightly at Stiles and Charlie before making his way over to Lydia. Charlie rolled her eyes and scoffed, but both her eyes and Stiles's followed Jackson as he made his way over to Lydia. In a flurry of movement, Stiles grabbed that same pamphlet, the one that was titled 'MENSTRUATION', and used it as a bit of a shield as he watched the couple.

Seeing Jackson approach, Lydia quickly said goodbye to whoever it was on the other side of the phone and hung up, getting to her feet. "Did he do it?" she asked abruptly, folding her arms across her chest and looking Jackson up and down like he was a show horse.

"He said not to make a habit of it," Jackson growled slightly resentfully, "but one cortisone shot won't kill me."

"You should get one right before the game too," Lydia said in that pushy way of hers, the one that meant you were going to end up doing whatever she wanted. Jackson's jaw twitched in frustration as he let go of his arm, letting it collapse against his side. The general pissed off expression on his face clearly stated that he did not want to participate, but Lydia the beautiful steamroller kept going. "The pros do it all the time," she continued, slight hostility seeping into her tone. "Do you want to be a little high school amateur? Or…do you want…to go…pro?"

With the last few words, Lydia slipped into her 'seductive' voice, one which always made Charlie cringe slightly because she knew what was coming next: gratuitous making out in public places. Charlie's lip curled slightly while watching them go at it. She didn't know why, but for some reason Jackson and Lydia making out always felt a little sleazy to her, mainly because it always seemed to have a weirdly calculated purpose to it. It wasn't a simple gesture of affection, it was strategy.

"Ugh," she muttered under her breath, wrinkling her nose. "I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit."

Stiles didn't seem to hear her, though. He was too busy watching the couple. After a few moments Jackson and Lydia stopped kissing and began walking down the hallway without so much as a word to her. Charlie rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag from where it lay on the neighboring chair.

"Well, that's my cue," she said, clapping a hand on Stiles's shoulder and getting to her feet. "Stay frosty, Stilinski. See you at the game tomorrow. I'll be rooting for you."

Stiles let out a laugh and shook his head. "That's really nice of you and everything, but I never play. I just—"

"Sit on the bench and look pretty?" Charlie asked, raising her eyebrows at him. "Never say never, Stiles. And I'll be rooting for you anyway." She turned to start walking down the hallway after Jackson and Lydia lest she be abandoned for a third time, but before she could get more than a few steps away a voice called after her.

"Hey Charlie!"

Charlie turned around to see Stiles waving over at her, still peeking over the top of his pamphlet. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and shrugged at him. "What's up?"

He cleared his throat and leaned in her direction, hanging over the armrest of his chair. "This, uh, this might sound like a weird question, but what just happened?"

Charlie exhaled loudly and scrunched up her face in thought. "Well, I guess it depends on your opinion as much as mine, but from where I'm sitting it looks like we just became friends. Unless you've got a problem with that."

Stiles's face morphed into a weird expression where his eyes had a vaguely terrified look about them, but a small smile covered his face. "What? Nope, no problem. Friends are good. Everybody needs friends."

Charlie smiled and gave a single definitive nod. Then, over Stiles's shoulder, she saw Scott approaching with a serious expression on his face. He clearly had something important to say, and from the surprised and suspicious way he was looking at her, she wasn't supposed to hear it.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Stiles."

With one more wave, she spun on her heel and jogged off after Jackson and Lydia, leaving the two of them to whatever weirdness they were taking part in.

Charlie caught up with Jackson and Lydia just as they had gotten to Lydia's car, and quickly climbed in the back. She reached into her purse and pulled out her iPod, quickly shoving the earphones in her ears and cranking the music up before either of them could get in the car. She didn't need to be so diligent about it, though, as the two of them spent a not-insignificant portion of time making out while leaning against the frame of the car. Charlie let out a loud sigh and sank lower in her seat, propping her feet up on the seat in front of her, waiting to get home and pass out in her bed.

Life always seemed to find a way to suck just a little bit. Maybe that sounded like some overly angsty teenage melodrama crap, but from where Charlie was standing—or sitting, as the case was at the moment—that seemed to be the case. Everyone she knew was either hiding a part of themselves from everybody else or was lacking something they desperately wanted or needed. Lydia had this whole secret side to herself, Jackson was desperately clinging to his status as lacrosse all-star as attention was shifting elsewhere, Stiles had these intense feelings for someone who wasn't aware of him at all, and Scott was hiding—whatever the hell it was he was hiding.

Maybe that was the human condition—being constantly without something you desperately wanted so that you could strive for it. And if that was the case, what did that mean for her? As far as she could tell, there wasn't anything she desired or strove for with that sort of intensity. She just was what she was—what happened happened—and she dealt with it, accepted it, and moved on. Did that make her happier or more zen than everybody else, or more pitiable? She couldn't really be sure, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. And when she fell asleep that night, the question was still dancing through her mind.

There was one other thought, though. Stiles Stilinski and his little crush on Lydia. It was futile, ill-advised, and probably held a hell of a lot of disappointment for his future. She didn't mean to be harsh, but as things stood he didn't have much of a chance with her. But somehow he still seemed to hold onto a little bit of hope. And she was a bit jealous of him. She was jealous because that sort of capacity to love or care so completely and without reservation was something she kind of wished she had.

**Please review! Reviews feed the muse who lives in my basement. That way she can stop raiding my fridge and I'll finally get a decent meal.**

**So there's some more Stiles/Charlie for you! The first real one-on-one interaction. I've already started the next chapter, so I can tell you it will involve a lot more Mel (I want to develop her relationship with Charlie more), there will be more Charlie/Lydia bickering, and there will be another inexplicably awkward Stiles phone call! Oh, and we're also meeting Papa Argent. See you next time.**

**Spanish Translations:**

_Dónde está la biblioteca_? - Where is the library ?

_Me gusta el queso_ – I like cheese.

_El caballo está saltando_ – The horse is jumping.


	7. Game Day

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to Lojo2014o, whalegonetoheaven, TameTheGhosts, ScornedxRose, corazondepapel, Micaela M, Vee, E, Guest, xXbrianaXx, easythrowaway, and Z0mbieMart for reviewing. And, as per usual, thank you BrittWitt16 for being freaking awesome.**

**A LONG CHAPTER! Feel free to celebrate. Okay, so I love how much you guys love the fact that she named the vending machine. When I was writing it I was like 'is this too weird'. Then I decided it was too weird, which is why I kept it in. The cat's name 'Chairman Meow' is a reference, but not to the Mortal Instruments. In the TV show Psych the main character Shawn had a cat named that when he was a kid (though apparently it should have been named 'Chairwoman Meow').**

**Oh, also, I started a polyvore page to show Charlie's outfits and stuff. If you want to see it just go to the polyvore website and search for the member it-belongs-in-a-museum. Cheers!  
**

Chapter 7 – Game Day

"Up! Up! Up!"

The shrill voice ringing in Charlie's ear was worse than any alarm clock known to man. It was even worse than Lydia's ringtone wrenching her out of consciousness at obscenely early hours of the morning. Hell it was worse than the air-raid horns they used during the London Blitzkrieg. Charlie wasn't being in the least bit hyperbolic. There was, in fact, nothing out there worse than having her Aunt Mel leaning over her and trying to wake her up on a Saturday morning.

"Charlotte Evelyn Oswin," her aunt's voice insisted, "I am telling you to get out of that bed this very instant. I am being stern and forceful to convey my meaning without appearing aggressive or hostile."

Ignoring the excited chirping of her aunt, Charlie rolled over and grabbed her alarm clock, twisting it in her direction so she could see the time. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and squinted at it, waiting for those squiggly red lines to assemble into something that vaguely resembled letters. When they finally did, it read 10:14 a.m. Nope. No. That was simply unacceptable. Weekends meant sleeping till noon or later. That was the way it had always worked, and she wasn't about to let it change now.

Charlie rolled back over in her bed and yanked her covers up over her head. "Go away," she mumbled into her pillow. "I shall not be awoken before the prophesized hour."

"Oh, really?" Mel replied skeptically. "And when exactly is 'the prophesized hour'?"

"Whenever I feel like waking up," Charlie replied simply, snuggling deeper into the covers. "Probably some time tomorrow afternoon."

For a few moments there was no other sound, giving Charlie the small degree of hope that maybe, just maybe, she would be left to her own devices. But that hope was ripped from her, along with the covers. Mel took hold of the purple fabric covering Charlie's head and tore them away, causing Charlie to let out a loud whine. And then, as if to add insult to injury, Mel ripped the curtains away as well, allowing for streams of light to flood into the dark room and hit Charlie in the face.

"Ah!" she shouted, throwing arms over her face to protect it from the harsh rays. "It burns! Make it stop! For the love of Neil Patrick Harris, make it stop!"

"You need to stop being so dramatic, Charlie," Mel said in a slightly patronizing tone.

Charlie huffed loudly and finally pushed herself up to the sitting position, scooting back until she was leaning against the wall and folding her arms across her chest. "I'm not being dramatic. Mel, let me tell you something and I want you to listen very, very carefully. Saturdays? They're for _sleeping_. So why don't we go get a giant black Sharpie so we can mark off every Saturday left on the calendar. Write 'if you wake up Charlie, she'll come at you like a honey badger'."

Mel wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Honey badger?"

"It's like the most violent animal in existence," Charlie said, waving her hand dismissively. "I saw it on the discovery channel, but that's not the point. The point is that at this moment I should be blissfully unconscious having dreams about Hugh Jackman feeding me chocolate-covered strawberries or something like that."

Sighing heavily, Mel walked over and sat on the corner of the bed, placing a warm hand on Charlie's extended leg. The look she leveled Charlie with was one that had become all too familiar. It was the concerned look, the 'how are you doing' look, the 'I hope I'm not failing terribly at this' look. "You shouldn't be sleeping your life away," Mel said, staring at Charlie with wide eyes and nodding at her insistently. "You know that excessive amounts of sleeping is a sign of depression. And you've been sleeping a lot lately."

"It doesn't mean I'm depressed!" Charlie exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. "It means I'm a teenager! There's only one cure for that. It's called your twenties."

Mel leveled Charlie with a reproachful look that made Charlie falter slightly. If she was being honest, she was getting really, really tired of all this 'overprotective' stuff that Mel seemed to be pulling, but she understood it. If she was less sensitive, she might have pointed out that maybe Mel needed to go to therapy instead of her, seeing as she was projecting all of her insecurities on Charlie. But Charlie kept her insensitive thoughts to herself. Still, though, she was a bit tired of being treated like a porcelain doll that was about to shatter.

"I just think you should be using your time more productively, Charlie," Mel said, smoothing down the skirt of her neatly ironed dress. "Do your homework, play your guitar, go for a run, visit with friends. Just get out of your room."

Sighing heavily, Charlie swung her legs over the side of the bed and got to her feet. "Okay, Mel," she muttered, going into her closet and yanking out a pair of sneakers. "I'll go for a jog. The fresh air will probably do me some good."

"There are some really great trails going through the woods, maybe you should try one of those out. I like to walk there when I have the time." Charlie was in the middle of fishing out her workout clothes when she felt Mel's hand on her shoulder. "Look, I'm sorry if I'm coming off paranoid and neurotic," Mel whispered. "I just—I worry, you know? With everything you've been through and the long hours I work at the shop—"

Charlie turned to face her aunt and grabbed the woman's shoulders, steadying her. "It's okay, Mel," she said, giving her a sincere look. "I get it. We haven't been spending too much time together lately. Look, why don't you come to the lacrosse game tonight. You can meet some more of my friends, get a better idea of how things are at school, all that good stuff."

Mel blew out a long breath and shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, I don't know…a bunch of young lacrosse hotties running around in the uniforms and ramming into each other, sweating—"

"LALALALALA!" Charlie shouted, shoving her fingers into her ears and squeezing her eyes shut like a petulant child. "Please stop! I am actually begging you to stop right now. I have friends on that team and I don't need my aunt perving on them. Please, keep it in your pants. You're old enough to be their—"

"Aunt?" Mel supplied, planting her hands on her hips and raising her eyebrows in a way that made her appear slightly dangerous. "I'm not going to start hitting on your friends, Charlie. It might have been a bit slow for me lately, but I don't think I have to resort to kids whose voices have yet to drop an octave. I still have eyes, though."

Charlie scrunched up her face in disgust. "Ew—just, ew. Let's just move on. Are you coming or not?"

Mel pursed her lips in consideration and gave a definitive nod. "Yes, yes I think I will. And then you can tell me which one you're crushing on."

A loud snort forced itself out of Charlie's nose. "Who says I have a crush on any of them?"

"Oh come on, Charlie," Mel said with a knowing smile. "There's always a crush."

Charlie gave her a casual shrug. "Not for me. I don't crush. It's not in my programming—never has been."

The look Mel gave her after that little remark could only be described as doubtful, but she let the subject drop, instead moving towards the door. She paused at the doorframe for the moment and gave Charlie another little knowing smile. "I'll make you a breakfast smoothie before your run. It'll be ready in five."

About an hour later Charlie was wearing her exercise clothes and jogging down some of those wooded back roads. Charlie loved to run. She wasn't sure why, but it gave her clarity—it made her feel more connected. And running in Beacon Hills was nothing like running in San Diego. There it was all concrete, asphalt and car alarms. Here it was fallen leaves and bird calls—not that she could hear all that much over the music blasting in her ears. She could get used to that kind of thing. It was calming.

More than anything else, though, running was a release. Whatever anxiety and frustration that might be building up inside of her would just wash away at the rhythmic sound of her feet hitting the pavement. Her dad always used to ask her what she was running from, and she would simply respond 'from whatever's chasing me'. And then, when he asked what was chasing her, she would smile and say, 'I don't know, I'll tell you when it catches up.'

Lately, though, it kind of felt like whatever was chasing her was catching up. Charlie couldn't really explain it, but over the past week or so that creeping feeling that there was something seriously off in Beacon Hills was growing stronger. It was like she was trying to put a puzzle together, but some annoying kid had stolen half the pieces. That way, when something else—some other event or clue—fell into place, it just ended up making the picture look more distorted. Combine that with the fact that she was pretty sure she saw a blue Jeep driving about crazily on like six different occasions, and maybe her aunt was right. Maybe she was going a little bit crazy.

By the time Charlie got back to her house, it was well past noon and she was covered in sweat and panting. She leaned over at the waist and took a few gasping breaths before climbing the stairs and walking through the door. "Hey, Mel, I'm back!" she shouted, throwing her keys in the bowl. She paused at the mirror in the entryway and sighed. Her hair was a curly mess with bits of it sticking to her forehead and neck, her face was red and splotchy, and she just generally looked like crap. "Why is it that when people run in the movies they never break a sweat?" she called out, moving into the kitchen. "I mean, Angelina Jolie always has perfect makeup when she's spelunking or whatever the hell she does. I look like a freaking tomato. Hollywood is deceiving us. I mean, I don't get why—why are you making that face at me?"

Mel was sitting at the kitchen island with a plate full of last night's Thai food takeout, a bottle of chilled Perrier, and a knowing smile. "You forgot your cell phone," she almost sang out, taking a sip of her water. "You got a call."

"That's great, Mel," Charlie said, raising her eyebrows at the blonde, "and that would be super-impressive to me if this was the early 1900s, but the technology has lost that sort of impact."

For once, Mel didn't tell her off over her sarcasm. In fact, her smile just grew wider. "Even when that telephone came from a boy?"

Charlie frowned and moved towards the fridge, grabbing a cold water bottle. "So what if the call came from a boy?" she said after taking a few large gulps from the bottle. "Roughly half the world's population is of the male persuasion." Mel smirked and pulled out Charlie's phone, twirling it between her fingers, making Charlie swallow heavily. "Mel, did you answer my phone?"

"That Stiles guy called about six times," Mel said, still smirking widely. "I was starting to get a headache. I told him you'd call him when you got back—he seemed quite eager to talk with you. He was really quite nice, if a little over-excited." She placed the phone on the counter and slid it across the island in Charlie's direction before perching her elbows on the counter and resting her chin on her hands. "So, who is he?"

"A friend," Charlie replied tersely, snatching up her phone and fixing Mel with a thoroughly displeased look. "Just a friend."

"Does he have a girlfriend?" Mel asked, her voice getting a slightly sly overtone.

Charlie finished chugging the water bottle and wiped at her mouth. "Not that I know of," she mumbled. "What does that matter?"

"Because," Mel said, raising her eyebrows at Charlie, "as _When Harry Met Sally _taught us, men and women can't ever be 'just friends'. There's always something else going on in the background."

Charlie let out a disbelieving snort and shook her head, perching herself on one of stools. "I'm not going to let Billy Crystal dictate my relationships with people," she replied sarcastically. "And if I'm going to choose a movie to live my life by, it's not going to be_ When Harry Met Sally_."

"Which one would it be, then?"

Charlie pursed her lips in concentration. "I would have to go with _The Big Lebowski_."

"Right," Mel drawled out sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "You pick a movie about a bowling bum who spends his days smoking weed. That's exactly what every parent and/or guardian wants to hear from their impressionable teenager."

"Hey, I am not impressionable," Charlie snapped back, waving a finger in her aunt's face. "I am aggressively apathetic. Peer pressure doesn't work when you don't give a crap. If I become a weed-smoking bum it won't be because it's what the cool kids are doing or because I saw it in a movie. It'll be because I want to."

"Well I suppose that's a little bit comforting," Mel mumbled, returning to her plate of food. Charlie reached across the counter and plucked one of the baby corn from the plate, popping it in her mouth before grabbing her phone and jogging up the stairs. She was about half way up to the second floor when Mel's voice called out again. "Don't forget to call that Stiles kid!" she almost sang.

Continuing up the stairs and ignoring her aunt's girlish giggles, Charlie opened up the 'missed calls' section of her phone. Mel was wrong. There were about eight missed calls from Stiles. Charlie made a face at the screen of the phone before punching in his number. It picked up after about half a ring.

"H—hello?"

Charlie could hear music blaring and the sound of wheels over gravel in the background. Hm, maybe she wasn't going crazy. Maybe there had been a blue Jeep just driving around randomly for no apparent reason. He and Scott seemed to do a lot of things for no apparent reason.

"Hey, Stiles," Charlie sighed into the phone. "My aunt said you called?"

"Oh, yeah!" Stiles said eagerly. There was an audible sigh of relief that left Charlie feeling even more confused. But then Stiles rambled on in that way that seemed to be typical of him. "Right. You're home safe from running. That's good. I was just calling to…uh….to find out the English assignment that's due on Monday. I forgot to write it down and Mr. Hobson is kind of—"

"A dick?" Charlie supplied.

"Yeah," Stiles barked out through a laugh. "Yeah he definitely is that."

"Why didn't you just ask Scott?" she asked curiously. "Before yesterday I was half certain that you guys were conjoined twins."

Stiles let out a tremulous laugh. "I would ask Scott but he's—he's a little busy right now. Not sure where he is and he hasn't picked up his phone, so…"

"Um, okay, just give me a second." Charlie dug through her backpack and got out her planner. "It looks like we've got to read chapters six through twelve of 'Candide', come up with a list of fifteen satirical elements, and write a paragraph explaining each. You're standard stuff."

"That's great, thanks," Stiles chirped in an overly enthusiastic voice.

"I'm not sure I'd describe English homework as 'great', but you're welcome," she mumbled in response. Dead silence filled the airwaves, making Charlie feel a bit twitchy. "Was that it?" she asked in confusion. "Is there something else?"

"Nope," Stiles answered quickly. "No that's it. Just trying to get some studying in before the big game today."

"Yeah, I think I'm going to do the same," she murmured, sighing heavily. "Chemistry is kind of kicking my ass right now. Harris seems kind of like a sociopath, only a lot less charming. And I can't say this for sure since I made it a rule not to get within a 5 foot radius of the guy, but he also seems like he would have really bad breath."

"That sounds like a great plan," Stiles said eagerly, interrupting her Harris-hate monologue. "Stay home and study. Or watch TV. Or read a book—that seems like something you would be doing a lot of. Whatever. It's up to you really."

"Okay, then….." she drawled out, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. "I guess I'll see you tonight."

"Yup. Tonight."

Charlie stared at the phone for a few moments after hanging up. Her phone calls with Stiles were getting weirder and weirder, and there had only been two of them so far. What would happen when the next time around, if there was one? Would he just squeal into the receiver in a high-pitched voice? Would he start talking in Klingon? Calling her eight times for an English assignment seemed fairly extreme—nobody was that eager to do homework. And then there was his insistence on her staying home and the whole 'you got home safe' thing. Weird. Really weird. But then again Stiles wasn't exactly the most coordinated conversationalist.

True to her word, Charlie spent the rest of the day studying chemistry. She got a couple of phone calls from Lydia, but unceremoniously hit the 'ignore' button for each of them. Lydia during game days was even more terrifying than Lydia on conventional occasions—making banners and such. Charlie refused to be a part of that process. Writing 'we love Jackson' on a poster would feel too much like a lie, and anything involving glitter was completely off the table. Glitter was the herpes of the arts and crafts world. No matter how much you try to get rid of it, it keeps coming back.

But, as with all things involving Lydia, the quiet didn't last for long. Charlie had just finished outlining a chapter when all of the sudden the doorbell rang. And then it rang again. And again. The damn thing rang more than ten times in the space of fifteen seconds, which could only mean one thing. There was a very impatient strawberry blonde on the other side of the door. After the bell rang for the eleventh time, Charlie sighed loudly and flipped her textbook closed before jogging down the stairs. The moment she opened the door, a fiery ball of perfume and Gucci pushed past her and marched into the foyer.

"So I'm just going to ignore the fact that you've been screening my calls," Lydia declared, spinning on her heel to face Charlie and planting her hands on her hips. She paused for a moment, like she was waiting for Charlie to respond, but Charlie just folded her arms across her chest and stared back evenly. The self-assured look on Lydia's face faltered slightly. "So you're not going to deny that you've been screening my calls?"

"Nope," Charlie replied, popping the 'p'. "I've totally been screening your calls."

"And why would you do that?" Lydia demanded, narrowing her eyes and taking a step towards her.

"Because I've got other things to do," Charlie replied, shrugging her shoulders. "I've got homework, a paper to write, poster-making to avoid, laundry to do, dishes to—"

"Yeah, I don't care that you don't have a maid," Lydia said waving her hand dismissively. "I'm just here to make sure that you don't bail on me for the game later today. It's the first game of the season, and we need to start it right."

Charlie sighed and pulled at the ends of her hair, preparing herself for the frustration that was bound to ensue. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could Lydia grabbed hold of her hand and began dragging her up the stairs and into Charlie's bedroom. The moment the two girls entered the room, Lydia released her hand and moved straight towards the closet. She yanked open the door and began going through Charlie's clothes, frowning and letting out multiple sighs as she was confronted with the less-than-satisfactory wardrobe within. Charlie sighed and sat down on her bed, watching her closet being ripped apart.

"Seriously Charlie?" she demanded, spinning around on her heels and holding up a red T-shirt with Darth Vader printed on the front with the caption 'I Find Your Lack of Bacon Disturbing'. She tossed the T-shirt at Charlie and tossed her hair. "What the hell is that?" she said in frustration, gesturing at the T-shirt that had landed on Charlie's face.

"It's a funny T-shirt," Charlie muttered, pulling the shirt from her face and tossing it a corner.

Lydia scoffed and turned back to the closet. "There's more flannel in here than in a 90s grunge band," she sneered. "I thought I threw all of this stuff out."

"Noooo…" Charlie drawled out, "you put it in a pile of things to be thrown away. Which I preceded to not throw away."

"Whatever," Lydia said, waving her hand dismissively. "We need to find you something decent for the game. We don't want our team to be distracted by the fact that there's a transient sitting in the stands."

"Lydia, it's a sports game," Charlie sighed, collapsing back on the bed. "Who cares what I'm wearing? It'll be hidden under my coat anyway. It's freaking freezing outside."

"That may be the case…." Lydia trailed off, grabbing a top and pair of jeans, holding them up to the light and judging them. After a few moments consideration, she tossed them at Charlie. "There, wear that. We're going out with the lacrosse team after the big game, either to celebrate or console each other. And it had better be to celebrate."

Groaning loudly, Charlie scrunched up her face into an expression of distaste. "That's not going to happen. I don't exactly get along with like 70% of the lacrosse team."

"Maybe you'd get along better if you stopped physically assaulting them," Lydia shot back, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Aaron Harrison said that you almost dislocated his thumb."

"Aaron Harrison is a whiny baby who would call 911 for a paper cut," she replied abruptly, absently picking at her fingernails and rolling her eyes. "Anyways, he's lucky that he got to keep that thumb after trying to grab my ass."

Lydia began muttering something under her breath that was most likely not complementary and Charlie sat up again. She grabbed the top Lydia had chosen and held it up. It was one of the ones Lydia had gotten for her, complete with ruffles and beading. "Yeah, there's not way I'm wearing this," she said, getting to her feet and hanging the top back in the closet. "We're going to a lacrosse game, not meeting the queen of England."

Lydia let out a small scream of frustration and stamped her foot. "I told you! We're going out with the lacrosse team afterwards!"

"Nobody's going anywhere after the game," Mel's voice interrupted. The two girls turned to see Mel standing in the door, leaning against the frame with a determined, slightly pinched looking expression on her face. At the sight of her Lydia faltered slightly, but the hesitation only lasted a moment before that easy, confident smile of hers slid across her face. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and took a few steps towards Mel.

"Listen, Ms. Oswin," she said in her most reasonable-sounding voice.

"You can just call me Mel, Lydia," her aunt said, planting a hand on her hip. "You usually do anyway when you're not asking for something."

Lydia exhaled sharply, but kept smiling. "Alright, Mel," she continued, taking another step forwards. "A lot of us are heading out after the game for ice cream. I thought it would be good to take Charlie here along." She grabbed Charlie's arm and yanked her to her side, draping her arm over Charlie's shoulder. "That way she can meet some more people, matriculate more efficiently."

Mel pressed her lips together in a thin line and nodded along with Lydia's words, but didn't appear convinced. "You make a compelling point, Lydia, though I'm pretty sure ice cream is a euphemism for something far less innocent. But I'm not letting Charlie out tonight. The sheriff has put into effect a 9:30 curfew because all of the animal attacks lately and—"

"Animal attacks?" Charlie inquired, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. "There have been animal attacks in the area?"

"Yes," Mel replied. "And what kind of authority figure would I be if I let you go out and get mauled after you've only been living with me for six weeks."

Charlie winced theatrically and turned to Lydia, shrugging her shoulders. "Sorry. I guess that's that."

"Yeah, you look really broken up about it," Lydia shot back, glowering slightly at Charlie. Charlie sighed heavily and scratched at the back of her neck absently. Lydia had a tendency to get frustrated and angry when things didn't go her way, which was why people usually let things go her way. But equally stubborn Charlie didn't usually fold. Unstoppable force. Immovable object. Sometimes it led to problems.

"So, Lydia, are you staying for dinner?" Mel asked, holding up a delivery menu and trying to change the subject and diffuse the tension. "We're ordering out some Italian food from Corleone's if you'd like to join us before we head out to the game."

"We?" Lydia demanded, pointing between Mel and Charlie. "Mel is coming too."

"We're trying out some aunt-niece bonding time," Charlie said through a shrug. "While you're out with you lacrosse players we'll probably be watching romcoms and eating ice cream."

Lydia squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "That's great. I guess I'll see the two of you there." And then without another word she marched past Mel and Charlie, down the stairs, and out the front door. Charlie winced at the sound of the door slamming shut. "Bye!" she shouted into the now vacant space where Lydia had just been standing. Sighing heavily, she turned to Mel. "Lydia doesn't really like it when things don't go according to plan."

"Yeah," Mel said through a tight smile. "I gathered."

After another hour and a plate of _Corleone's_ delicious fettuccine alfredo, Mel and Charlie were riding to the lacrosse field in Mel's hybrid. Charlie had opted to ignore Lydia's wardrobe suggestions, instead opting for a T-shirt with the poster of an old, black and white French film on the front, red jeans, a striped cardigan, and some boots. On their way out Mel had shoved a hat, coat, and scarf in her arms, which, as she stepped out onto the field, she was insanely grateful for. She could never get over how cold it was in Beacon Hills. It was September and she could already see her breath.

Mel linked her arm through Charlie's as the two of them made their way towards the lacrosse pitch. They were running a little bit late and it seemed like the team had already finished their warm-ups and was moving together for the pre-game huddle. Mel let out a low whistle as she eyed the players, making Charlie cringe. "You promised you wouldn't be pervy," she mumbled under her breath, making Mel let out a musical laugh.

"I don't recall making any promise of the sort," Mel said with a toothy smile, "but I'll do my best not to embarrass you."

As they approached the bleachers, Charlie caught sight of Allison wearing a tan trench coat and a purple hat. Allison waved her over, smiling enthusiastically, and Charlie waved back as she dragged Mel in the girl's direction. Just as they were walking up to her, though, another figure, holding two containers of popcorn walked up as well. It was a tall man, probably in his mid-to-late thirties. He had golden blonde hair, a stern face, and sharp, intelligent-looking blue eyes. Coming to a stop, Charlie felt herself shift a bit on her feet underneath his harsh gaze.

"Hey, Charlie!" Allison exclaimed brightly, taking a step forward and pulling Charlie into a short hug. "I'm so glad that you could make it too!" She took a step back and gestured at the man standing next to her. "This is my dad. Dad, this is Charlie, the girl I mentioned from school. She's made the whole experience of being the new girl a whole lot less traumatizing for me."

Charlie laughed and shrugged slightly. "I'm new too, remember? We just dragged each other across the finish line is all."

The man—Allison's dad—smiled at her and Mel. Despite the outward friendliness, the smile felt vaguely threatening, maybe because of the way his incredibly white teeth glinted in the dark. He took a step forwards and extended a hand, which Charlie took and gave a firm shake. "Chris Argent," he greeted. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Argent," Charlie returned with a nod.

Mr. Argent took a step back and gave her an appraising look, making Charlie feel like she was being measured up in some way. "So you're the clever, insubordinate one, right?" he asked, eyes still narrowed. "From what I understand you're a questionable influence."

"Dad!" Allison hissed, smacking him lightly in the chest. "You can't say things like that to my friends. Charlie's not insubordinate, she's just…..colorful."

Charlie just ignored Allison's outburst and smiled at Mr. Argent, shoving her hands deep into her pockets. "Insubordinate, huh?" she said, bouncing up and down on her feet slightly to try and warm herself. "I've got to say, that's the best euphemism for 'smartass' that I've ever heard."

"Charlie!" Mel interjected in a scolding tone. "What's this about being insubordinate? Have you been talking back to teachers again?"

"Only a teeny, tiny bit," she said holding up her thumb and forefinger to indicate. Mel bristled, planting her hands on her hips and giving Charlie the 'parenting glare' causing Charlie to sigh heavily in response. "Come on, Mel," she whined, "you really didn't think that I check my sarcasm at the door when I leave in the morning, did you? It's a character flaw—I really can't help it. And personally I don't think that they should put limitations on the discourse in school. It dampens creativity."

"And what about discipline?" Mr. Argent demanded, raising her eyebrows at her.

"Dad!" Allison whined, pulling on the sleeve of his jacket to try and get him to stop talking. "Stop being weird."

Charlie opened her mouth to respond, but Mel stepped forwards and put a hand on her shoulder, indicating for her to be quiet. "Discipline means knowing when to stop talking," Mel said pointedly, glowering at Charlie for a few more moments before turning to Allison and her dad, extending her hand to them both. "I'm Melody Oswin," she said warmly. "I'm Charlie's aunt. Welcome to Beacon Hills—you're going to love it here."

"I'm sure that we will," Mr. Argent responded. The words sounded friendly, but the smile on his face was tight and he still seemed to have a calculating look in his eyes, as if he was dissecting the social interaction into its base components so that he could form an educated opinion.

"Were you military?" Charlie asked suddenly, fixing him with a curious stare.

He blinked and looked at her with an expression of surprise. "No," he said casually, shaking his head. "No I was never in the military. Why do you ask?"

"No reason in particular," she said, shrugging casually. "You've just got the posture. My dad was in the Coast Guard and he and his buddies always have this really upright posture." She straightened her shoulders for a moment to demonstrate before letting them sag again. "I never had the discipline to maintain it."

Mr. Argent's smile widened slightly at her use of the word 'discipline', making Charlie feel a little bit unsettled. "You should come to our house for dinner sometimes next week," he said politely. "I always like to meet my daughter's friends—to see who she's spending her time with."

Allison rolled her eyes heavily from her position behind her father and Charlie almost bust out laughing. Clearly she was more than used to the overly protective vibes her dad was sending out at the moment. Charlie turned to Mr. Argent and flashed him a winning smile. "I would love to," she replied with equal politeness. "Just name the date and the time."

"Fantastic," Mr. Argent responded. "I'll have to talk to my wife first, but Allison will let you know. Be sure to invite your parents as well."

Charlie opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Any awkward silence that might have arisen from that statement was quickly cut short as Allison elbowed her father in the side. "Dad!" she hissed, shaking her head violently. He just blinked at her in confusion and shrugged his shoulders questioningly.

"It's, uh, actually it's just me," Mel said, raising her hand slightly.

"Oh," Mr. Argent said with a nod, wisely letting the subject drop. "Well in that case my wife and I would love to have you and Charlie over for dinner."

"And we'd be happy to come," Mel responded warmly. "Isn't that right, Charlie?"

"I couldn't think of anything more exciting," Charlie said, smiling sweetly.

Just then Lydia appeared at the bleachers, waving over at Allison and Charlie to indicate that she had saved seats. "Thank God," Allison said, grabbing hold of Charlie's hand and pulling her in Lydia's direction. "Hey, dad, I'll see you after the game. You guys can talk about….grown up stuff that you have in common. Tax returns, that kind of thing."

The two girls clambered onto the bleachers, carefully stepping over people as they made their way over to Lydia. "I'm so sorry about that," Allison said, wincing slightly as she glanced over her shoulder at Charlie. "My dad—he just gets really overprotective. He comes off as super-intense, but he's really very nice when you get to know him."

"Hey, I'm no stranger to overprotective dads," Charlie said, throwing her hands in the air in submission. "I had a single dad, remember? It just manifests a bit differently. Your dad invites your friends to dinner so he can vet them or whatever, mine enrolled me in self-defense classes when I was six. Dads always freak out when it comes to their daughters."

"If it helps, I think he liked you," Allison said, patting her on the shoulder reassuringly. Charlie narrowed her eyes and studied Allison's face a moment. Deceit was written in every line. She let out a snort and shook her head. "I call bullshit. Your dad hates me."

"He doesn't _hate_ you," Allison said insistently. "He just thinks that you're—"

"Insubordinate?" Charlie supplied, raising her eyebrows challengingly. Allison winced and nodded, making Charlie laugh in response. "Don't worry, Allison," she smirked, patting the girl on the back. "I'm going to have fun corrupting you."

After a lot of tripping and almost mauling people as the climbed up the steps of the bleachers, they reached Lydia who was looking perfectly coiffed in her blue coat and leopard print earmuffs. "Thank God you both made it!" she said happily. "I was afraid you would miss the beginning. And Charlie, I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up at all."

"You know me!" Charlie said with false levity. "Always overflowing with school spirit."

Lydia shot Charlie a withering look and then smiled at Allison, gesturing at them both to sit. Eventually they ended up with Allison in the middle and Charlie and Lydia on either side of her. Charlie scanned the area to see where Mel had gone and noticed her chatting with Mr. Argent chatting next to the bleachers.

After a few moments, the referee blew the whistle and the players ran out on the field, getting into position for the game. Lydia cheered out Jackson's name as number 37 made his way to the center of the field for the faceoff and Charlie scanned the field looking for familiar faces. She was really curious as to how Aaron Harrison had managed to make first line in such a violent sport given that his tolerance for pain was roughly equivalent to that of a weepy toddler. Then there was number 11—Scott—who was crouched down, getting ready for the whistle to blow and Danny—number 6—was near the goal playing defense. Finally her eyes fell on number 24—Stiles—who was firmly planted on the bench.

Right before the game started, Mel and Mr. Argent began picking their way through the bleachers as well, taking a seat with Mr. Argent right next to Charlie and Mel on his other side. Charlie shot them both a weak smile and turned back to the field, leaning forwards so that her elbows were resting on her knees. The referee slowly made his way to the middle of the field and finally blew the whistle.

And then they were off. Jackson easily swiped the ball away and began sprinting towards the goal. He was immediately swamped with opposing players and looked around for someone to pass to. Scott was wide open on the other side of the field, waving frantically, but Jackson's eyes seemed to slide right past him, instead passing to number 26 who was, quite frankly, much worse situated. "Scott was wide open," Charlie murmured to herself, never taking her eyes off the field as the ball bounced back and forth between players. "What the hell is Jackson doing?"

"He's winning," Lydia replied tersely, clapping her hands together to cheer on her boyfriend. "That's what winners do."

After a few moments of passing the ball, it seemingly disappeared, but then Scott started sprinting down the field. Charlie's eyes followed his trajectory and saw the ball lying on the grass. As Scott approached, though, he was rammed into the ground by someone else wearing the Beacon Hills maroon. Charlie winced as he was knocked over and scowled at the offending player who was, of course, Jackson. That guy's ego was seriously more fragile the Christmas ornaments she always used to break when she was a kid. But she wasn't allowed to scowl much longer, because soon enough Jackson was approaching the goal. He sent the ball flying, and it landed squarely in the net. Everybody in the bleachers threw themselves to their feet, cheering wildly as the players on the field jumped up and down in celebration and the giant red 0 on the scoreboard changed to a 1.

Charlie got to her feet slowly, cheering with less enthusiasm than everybody else and watching Scott carefully. He didn't look all that happy, especially after Lydia broke out one of the 'We Luv U Jackson' posters and got Allison to help her hold it up. It probably wasn't the grammatical and spelling inaccuracies that were bothering him. She winced slightly, imagining the 'kicked puppy expression that was no doubt hiding behind that face mask. "Brutal," she sighed out shaking her head slightly.

"What was that?" Allison asked, suddenly turning to face her.

"Hm?" Charlie responded stupidly. "Oh, nothing. Go Direwolves!"

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Lydia complained loudly. "We're the timber wolves."

Soon enough, the euphoria of that first shot wore off. Nobody in the bleachers or on the field was drunk on success or high on life. No, in fact most of the game was quite sobering, primarily because Beacon Hills was losing. Badly. There was only a minute and a half left in the forth quarter, and they were two points down.

"Which one is Scott again?" Mr. Argent asked, leaning in slightly.

"Number 11," Lydia replied bitterly. "Otherwise known as the one who hasn't caught a single ball this entire a game."

"Well he can't exactly catch a ball if nobody is passing to him," Charlie replied with a roll of her eyes. "Dollars to donuts says Jackson told the rest of the team not to pass to him so he could be the big hero."

Lydia leaned forwards and shot her a scandalized look. "Do you really think my boyfriend is that petty?"

Charlie returned her stare evenly and nodded. "Yes."

Lydia opened her mouth to say something, but seemed to reconsider, instead snapping it shut and straightening in her seat, crossing her legs primly. Allison on the other hand was leaning forwards, almost curled up in a ball and tapping her foot anxiously. Charlie followed her line of sight and found her staring at number 11, who was bent over at the waist and breathing heavily. "I just hope Scott is okay," she murmured under her breath.

"I just hope we're okay," Lydia interjected.

"Hold on," Charlie said, turning to Allison. "Why wouldn't Scott be okay?"

Allison snorted and raised her eyebrows, looking pointedly at Mr. Argent. "It might be because my dad hit him with his car earlier when he stopped by to say hello."

Charlie's jaw dropped as she turned to face Allison's dad. "Isn't it a bit early to be running down you're daughter's dates, Papa Argent?" she asked incredulously. "I mean I'm pretty sure they haven't even kissed yet. Vehicular homicide is for when you become eligible for one of those teen pregnancy reality shows."

"Charlotte Evelyn Oswin, you shut your mouth," Mel hissed from Mr. Argent's other side. "Show some respect."

Charlie threw her hands in the air and shot them both a sheepish look. "Sorry."

Mr. Argent looked at her coolly, which made Charlie more uncomfortable than if he had shouted at her, so she slowly turned back to the field where the players were arranging themselves for what would probably be the final faceoff. There were a couple more moments of tense silence until that familiar determined look crossed Lydia's face. "We need to win this," she muttered to herself. Then she got to her feet and hauled the 'We Luv U Jackson' sign over her head, looking down at Allison expectantly. "Allison, a little help here?"

Allison hesitated a moment and gave Charlie a skeptical look, but soon enough got up to her feet and held the sign over her head. But judging by the expression on her face, she wasn't enjoying herself very much. All of the people on the bleachers were very still and somber, wearing looks similar to those of family members when they were about to take their elderly relatives off of life support. There was no hope left, they were just waiting for the end to come. It was freaking depressing. Charlie's eyes strayed down to the bench. Coach Finstock was sitting there with his head in his hands and Stiles was twitching frantically.

Sighing heavily, Charlie got to her feet and began to pick her way down the bleachers.

"Charlie," Lydia hissed from where she was standing, "where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to say hi to some people," she hissed back. "You guys are bumming me out."

Bristling at her words, Lydia turned her chin up and faced the field, cheering out Jackson's name. Charlie slowly made her way down the bleachers, avoiding all of the morose faces, and began to walk down the field towards the bench. Stiles was sitting there, leaning forwards and gnawing on his fingernails nervously as his leg bounced up and down with almost inhuman speed. "Hey," she chirped out, taking a seat next to Stiles and making him jump slightly.

"Hey…..Charlie," Stiles said, giving her a weird look. "What are—what are you doing here?"

Charlie shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her coat and shrugged. "The view was getting pretty depressing from the bleachers. I figured I'd try out a new angle."

"Oh, no," Coach Finstock said, shaking his head with that same usual, manic energy. "No, no, no. No girls on the field on game day."

Charlie leaned forwards and shot him a weird look. "I'm not on the field."

"No girls on the bench, then!" he shot back. "You're a distraction with the smiling and the nice smelling shampoo, you'll ruin their concentration and then y—" His voice cut off abruptly as he looked and the scoreboard. "You know what," he continued, throwing his hands in the air, "screw it. Just—whatever."

Coach Finstock stood up and began pacing back and forth along the field line, muttering to himself. Charlie wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "Are we sure he's mentally stable," she asked, gesturing in the coach's direction.

"There's a distinct possibility that he's not," Stiles muttered back. His eyes were fixed on Scott's position on the field and his knee was bouncing quickly enough to break the sound barrier.

"Are you okay, Stiles?" she inquired worriedly.

He made a face and jerked his head to the side twitchily. "Been better."

The two of them fell silent as the referee stepped onto the pitch and made his way towards the faceoff. He leaned down next to Jackson and the other team's captain and finally, after what felt like a lifetime, blew the whistle. The two players rammed into each other, frantically struggling for the ball, and somehow it got projected straight up in the air. Jackson and his opponent both jumped to their feet, looking around wildly for the ball, but then a giant streak of crimson flew over them and swiped it out of the air. It wasn't until the person hit the ground and kept running for the goal that Charlie got a decent look at him. Number 11. It was Scott.

"Holy shit," she mumbled, her jaw hanging slack as she watched him sprint down the field, dodging and weaving between players. "He's a freaking ballerina."

Scott approached the goal and sent the ball flying into the net. The buzzer rang, and the number 3 on the scoreboard changed to 4. One point down and still a minute and five seconds left to turn the tide. Charlie, along with the rest of the crowd, threw herself to her feet and began jumping up and down and screaming her lungs out while Stiles was practically having a seizure next to her. Coach Finstock was still pacing up and down the field, but this time their was a modicum of hope on his face.

"Pass to McCall!" he called out through cupped hands as Stiles trailed after him, still jumping up and down. "Yeah! Pass to McCall!"

It felt like seconds before everybody was in place again. Stiles was sitting back on the bench and chewing on his gloves for some inexplicable reason and now it was her leg that was bouncing up and down frantically.

"That is seriously unsanitary, Stiles," she said, swatting at his gloves. "You're going to give yourself one of those gross parasites you have to have surgery to remove."

"Shut up, Charlie," he muttered back in a jittery voice. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a bit preoccupied over here."

The ref blew the whistle again and the players spread out across the field. The opposing team won the faceoff and one of their players took off down the field towards their goal. But then, all of the sudden, he stopped. Then, for some ridiculous reason, he tossed the ball neatly into the net of Scott's lacrosse stick and stepped out of his way, giving Scott a clear shot at the goal . Charlie furrowed her eyebrows in confusion until she felt herself being pushed aside slightly. Coach Finstock came up behind her and Stiles and stepped over the bench, wedging himself between them.

"Did the opposing team just deliberately pass us the ball," he demanded in disbelief.

Stiles pulled the glove out of his mouth long enough to nod frantically. "Yes, I believe so, Coach."

Coach Finstock let out a small laugh and nodded as well. "Interesting."

Scott dodged past the last few players separating him from the goal and drew his arm back to give him more leverage for the shot. He sent the ball flying and Charlie cringed slightly as she saw it sail directly into the net of the goalie's lacrosse stick. And then something impossible happened. The ball tore threw the netting and sailed right into the goal. Charlie stayed seated, staring in awe as screams shattered the silence around her. All tied up and 39 seconds still on the clock. The other team's coach started kicking up a bit of a fuss, but was immediately shut down by Stiles and Coach Finstock. "The ball's in the net. That's the whole point right?"

The moment of truth. The last faceoff. As soon as the whistle blew, Jackson swiped the ball and managed to shelve his ego long enough to pass to Scott, who then took off down the field. But when he approached the goal, Scott stopped, looking around him. Charlie slowly and involuntarily stood up to her full height, her stomach twisting itself into knots as the clock ticked down to zero. Then she heard Stiles's voice from next to her. "No, Scott, no, no."

Eighteen seconds. Scott was just standing there, looking around like a cornered animal. Seven seconds. Two of the opposing players launched themselves at him. Scott drew his arm back, ready to shoot.

"Come on, Scott," Charlie whispered under her breath, grabbing hold of Stiles's shoulder for support. "Come on, come on, come on."

Five. Four. Three.

The buzzer went off for the last time as the ball sailed into the net. They had won, six to five. A loud cheer erupted from the crowd and people began to spill onto the field. Charlie wasn't sure who had initiated it, but somehow she and Stiles ended up in a one-armed hug, jumping up and down and screaming like idiots. Once the crowds thinned out a little bit, Stiles looked over at her in surprise like he hadn't even realized she was there. The two of them released each other immediately and took a step apart. Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly and began scratching nervously at the back of his neck. Charlie rolled her eyes and his discomfort and turned to face him. "Good game, man," she said, holding her hand up for a high-five.

Stiles laughed slightly and returned it. "I didn't really have much to do with it, but thanks."

"Oh, I don't know," she said, punching him in the shoulder. "Moral support is a fundamental part of the team effort."

Stiles shot her a small, grateful smile which she would have returned, but she was interrupted by the lilting voice of her aunt. "Hey Charlie," Mel said as she approached them, a smile plastered on her face.

Charlie rolled her eyes and scratched at her forehead. This was going to be painful. "Hey Mel," she mumbled less than enthusiastically. "This is Stiles."

"Oh, Stiles," Mel chirped, holding her hand out to Stiles, which he took, but not before shooting Charlie a confused look. "I believe we spoke on the phone earlier today."

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows in confusion for a moment, but then blinked in realization. "Oh, right, Ms. Oswin," he stammered out, shaking Mel's hand for longer than was probably necessary. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Mel said, her eyes flickering up and down to take in his appearance. "Very nice to meet you."

"Okay then!" Charlie said loudly, grabbing hold of her aunt's hand. "We're going to go. Stiles, congratulations again. I'll see you Monday."

"Yup, yeah," he said, giving her an awkward salute. "Monday. The day school weeks generally begin."

"Good luck with the English homework." A confused expression crossed Stiles's face again, making Charlie frown slightly. "The reason you called earlier….."

"Oh, right," Stiles said, planting his hands on his hips and nodding enthusiastically. "English homework. Reading. Words and stuff."

"Okay then," Charlie mumbled, giving him an awkward salute of her own before marching off with Mel in tow.

Charlie said goodbye to Lydia and Allison, who was desperately looking for Scott, and dragged Mel towards the car, mentally facepalming the whole time. Mel might only be 28 years old, but she was quickly becoming a fantastic parent. She certainly had the 'humiliate the teenager' aspect down pat.

As they made their way to the car, Mel and Charlie passed by a few of the players from the opposing team, all of who were sulking. She didn't blame them. They had lost the game in the space of a minute and a half. It was pretty freaking embarrassing. As the two girls pushed their way through the throngs of people to get to Mel's hybrid, Charlie could catch snippets of their conversations. Most of it was the stereotypical guy-whining—the ref had been paid off, they were robbed, blah, blah, blah. One of the comments, though, stuck in her head. As she opened her car door and climbed in to the passenger's seat, she overheard the guy who passed the ball to Scott.

"What the hell was number 11 on?" he shouted. "I swear his eyes were freaking yellow. What the hell kind of drug does that? PCP?"

Charlie paused for a moment until Mel shouted at her to get in the car. She climbed in, buckled up, and propped her feet on the dash. As she stared out the windows at the woods on her right, a single, familiar question began swirling around in her head again.

What the hell was going on with Scott McCall?

**So there it is. Awkward Stiles and more Stiles and Charlie interactions. Basically, if it wasn't clear, the reasoning behind Stiles calling Charlie was that he saw her jogging while Scott was freaking out in werewolf mode and he wanted to be sure that she hadn't been brutally murdered.**

**Also, I wanted to tell you guys that the progression of this story goes from awkward interactions, to sort of friends, to really close friends, to…..It's going to be a gradual build up. I just figured I should say that.**

**Anyways, please review! Pretty please. You have no idea how excited I get when you do. It's embarrassing really. There may or may not be squealing involved.  
**


	8. Tooth and Claw

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to ScornedxRose, xXbriannaXx, stilinskisgirl, TameTheGhosts, prettyargents, Hayley, ellisbellisballs, Lojo2014o, Moonyong98, easythrowaway, and Guest (I totally agree about Gavin). And as usual big thanks to BrittWitt16 for the review and inspiration. **

**I started a polyvore page to show Charlie's outfits and stuff. If you want to see it just go to the polyvore website and search for the member it-belongs-in-a-museum. Cheers!**

**Also, pretty soon I'm going to upload a soundtrack for the story on my profile as another story. It's not up yet, but I'll let you know when it is.**

Chapter 8 – Tooth and Claw

The post game play-by-play. It was kind of a tradition in the Oswin household. Every morning after a big sports game, Charlie and her dad would have waffles for breakfast and discuss the finer elements of the match—deploring bad calls by the referees, complaining about players or shots that might have been missed, and reenacting plays using the salt and pepper shakers. These days, though, the post game play-by-play took a bit of a different from the ones she remembered with her dad.

This time around, the after action report had absolutely nothing to do with sports whatsoever. The first of it came about an hour after Charlie had gotten home from the game. She got a phone call from Allison informing her of the extremely unsurprising news that she had kissed Scott in the boy's locker room after the game. She spared no details, talking about how creepy the locker room was, how adorable and nervous Scott was, how fun kissing Scott was. She firmly denied it when Charlie asked if he used too much tongue and even began to sound a little wistful when she mentioned that they had plans later in the week. What with all the gushing and excitement, Charlie was beginning to wonder when Papa Argent would be scheduling his second attempt to run Scott over with his car.

The closest Charlie actually got to talking about the game itself came the next day when Lydia came over for breakfast the next morning and spent most of the time her complaining about Jackson and his sulking. Apparently Scott's end-of-game performance had sent him into quite the tizzy and he was sliding neatly into the male posturing/overcompensation phase. This involved massive amounts of complaining, a renewal of the accusations of steroid use, and watching footage of old lacrosse matches so that he could 'regain his edge'. But over breakfast, Charlie had been distracted by something other than Jackson's failings as a boyfriend: the headlines of that morning's paper.

'Jane Doe Identified, Likely Killed in Animal Attack'

'Police to Prolong Curfew in Light of Recent Attacks'

'Kardashian Pregnancy Scare: Which One Is It This Time'

Alright, so the last one didn't interest her all that much, but the animal attacks in the area certainly did. She didn't manage to read all that much of the article before Lydia wrenched it out of her hands and tossed it across the kitchen, scolding her for not paying enough attention to the issue at hand, but not before Charlie had gotten the chance to read something she considered to be of great interest. The victim's name was Laura Hale. Hale as in Derek Hale.

Derek Hale. Derek freaking Hale with the serial killer eyes, bad attitude, evasive behavior, and perpetual stubble. Somehow the weird shit going on always seemed to come back to him. Well, him and Scott. The two of them seemed to have some weird sort of relationship. They weren't friends, but they were obviously linked in some sort of way. And if she could figure out what the deal with Derek Hale was, then maybe Charlie could find out what the hell was going on with Scott, and in Beacon Hills in general. He was the piece of the puzzle that might allow everything else to fall in place and make the picture clear. Cue slightly obsessive internet stalking.

From what she could glean from the limited records available to the public, Derek Hale had had a pretty shitty life. There was actually a reason for that sour face and broody demeanor other than trying to establish himself as an international man of mystery. About ten years previously, the majority of his family had died in a horrific house fire. After that he seemed to pretty much fall off the earth—he was a ghost. Then again, it was easy to disappear when you had virtually no human connections to keep you tethered in one spot. If it hadn't been for Mel, Charlie could have just as easily done the exact same thing.

Ultimately, her few hours of cyber-creepiness yielded absolutely zero results. It wasn't like the guy had a Twitter account where he posted every freaking thought that entered into his head, or if he did he used a pseudonym. He might be on instagram, posting depressing pictures of dead trees and that kind of crap—she could see that—but she was getting off topic. The only discernible connection between Derek and Scott that she could find, other than the odd social encounters and creepy laser eyes, was the fact that Scott and Stiles had been looking for Derek's sister's body. And that they thought he might have been the one that killed his sister seeing as how Stiles thought the 'he could totally be a creepy murderer person'. Not that they had known that it was his sister at the time. Anyways, the complete lack of progress in that respect meant that soon enough she was going to be forced to do something she really didn't want to do. She was going to ask Stiles and Scott about Derek Hale. But that didn't mean she expected a straight answer. No, in fact she expected more evasiveness. But the nature of that evasiveness could give her some clues. And she had to wait for the right time to ask.

Wow. She was probably way more invested in this weird mystery-type situation than could be considered strictly healthy. That didn't mean she was going to stop, though. It was a way to pass the time in that sleepy little town. It was either that or picking up another hobby, and she had enough of those to begin with.

Most of the week had progressed fairly normally. Aggressively normally, actually. Monday involved a lot of studying. Tuesday involved a chemistry test. On Wednesday the new spark plugs for her car came in, so she spent that afternoon up to her elbows in motor oil and all sorts of greasy stuff wearing one of her old T-shirts and ripped-up jeans while Lydia stood on the sidelines, deploring her lack of femininity and begging her to just go to a mechanic before somebody they knew saw her. In fact, everything seemed so damn normal that she was beginning to wonder if all the weirdness was just in her head. But then Thursday morning happened.

Charlie had actually been enjoying her morning. Having a functional car meant being able to avoid Lydia's early morning dictations of taste. For the first time in two weeks she was able to wake up and throw on something casual—a black tank top with a white geometric Aztec print, a light cream slouchy cardigan, a frayed pair of shorts, and those green Converse of hers that had been effectively retired since school started. She had ridden to school, blasting 'The Rolling Stones' and singing along to 'Sympathy for the Devil' at the top of her lungs.

Rolling into the side parking lot of the school, she threw her car into park and clambered out. By some miracle she actually managed to be one of the first students there—all the other cars she recognized as belonging to the lacrosse team who were probably in the middle of one of their early morning practices. Actually, it wasn't a miracle. It was Mel, who had seen fit to wake her up at 6:00 am an shove her out the door as soon as possible. Charlie rolled her eyes, mentally cursing her aunt, and started moving towards the school. It started out as one of those blind trudges, where your mind is on other things and your feet are automatically taking you from point a to point b. But before Charlie had the chance to get to the doors of the school, something made her stop in her tracks.

"Holy shit."

The words forced their way out of Charlie's mouth as she stared at the bus in front of her. The emergency exit door had been wrenched open, the metal warped and the yellow paint scratched by what looked to be large claws—a set of five. And then there was the interior. All of the seats had been completely shredded and the stuffing was strewn across the floor. That wasn't the bit that disturbed her though—it wasn't what made her stand there rooted in place and caused that shiver to run down her spine. No, it was the blood she saw that made her own run cold. It was everywhere, coating the floor, splashed on the seats, smeared on the windows. A hand print stained one of the windows that was half-open, like someone was attempting to escape, but was dragged backwards. The amount of blood there—someone was either dead or half way there.

"Excuse me," a deep male voice said from next to her. Charlie jumped in surprise and took a step back as a man wearing the khaki uniform of the Beacon Hills police department brushed past her, lining the area around the bus in yellow caution tape and dividing her from the bus in front. Charlie continued to stand on the other side of the line, watching the officers and forensics team as they milled around the scene. Some were snapping photos, others were taking samples of blood and hair or whatever the hell kind of evidence was left behind.

After a few moments of just standing there, one of the men seemed to notice her. After directing what appeared to be some lower level officers, he shoved his hands deep into the pockets and began walking in Charlie's direction. As he approached she could see brown hair, a warm, weathered face, and eyes that seemed to be narrowed in concern. Eventually he came to a stop in front of her, planted his hands on hips, and let out a tired sigh.

"Hey kid," he said, nodding in her direction. "Are you alright?"

Charlie cleared her throat and nodded. "Yeah—yes, sir. I'm fine."

The man looked at her like he expected her to leave, and when she didn't he sighed again and scratched at his forehead. Given the bloodshot eyes and coffee stain on his sleeve, he had clearly already been awake for quite some time dealing with this newest disaster. "Is there something I can help you with, then?"

Biting down hard on her lip, Charlie glanced at the bus and then back at the man standing in front of her. "What happened here?" she asked quietly, waving her hand in the direction of the crime scene.

"It looks like another animal attack," the man said, glancing over his shoulder at the bus. "Happened some time last night."

"Yeah," Charlie breathed out, nodding slightly. "Yeah, I gathered that from the claw marks and blood. I was wondering a bit more about the specifics. Is whoever was attacked still alive?"

"Can't really say," he replied simply. "We haven't found them yet. We're canvassing the area right now."

Swearing under her breath and scratching at her forehead, Charlie looked down at the ground for a moment. As she looked back up, she noticed something shiny pinned to the front of his shirt. It was a badge that read 'Sheriff'. "You mush be Sheriff Stilinski," Charlie said, pressing her lips together in a weak, thin smile.

"Yeah," he said, giving her a curious look. "Yeah, that's me."

Charlie nodded and stuck her hand out. "I'm Charlie Oswin. I go to school with your son. Though I guess that's fairly obvious given where I'm standing right now."

"Oh," he said in surprise, looking her up and down before taking her hand and giving it a firm shake. "I do remember him mentioning a Charlie, but he didn't make it completely clear that he was talking about a girl."

"I'll try not to hold that against him," Charlie said through a light snort. "Or you for that matter. The two of you are lucky that I'm secure in my femininity." As Sheriff Stilinski chuckled slightly, Charlie's eyes once again strayed to the bus behind him and felt that cold shiver again. She shoved her hands in her pockets and rocked back on her heels slightly. "I know the last thing you want is a smartass kid getting in the way, but I wouldn't feel right not asking—is there anything I can do to help?"

Sheriff Stilinski gave her a grateful look, but shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Just go ahead on inside and get to your class. And try and make sure that idiot son of mine doesn't get into any trouble."

Charlie winced theatrically and shrugged her shoulders sheepishly. "Sorry, sir. I have a wide range of skills, but getting Stiles to not do something stupid once he has decided to do that stupid thing is far beyond my abilities."

He just sighed and nodded, scratching at the back of his neck in a way oddly similar to Stiles himself. "Yeah," he mused, more to himself that to her in a voice that seemed to be equal parts pride and exasperation. "That's my boy. It was nice to meet you." And without another word he turned around and headed back to the bus, directing his deputies and coordinating the canvass. While his back was turned to her, Charlie grappled around in her bag frantically until her fingers curled around her phone. She pulled it out and took a couple of photos of the bus as subtly as possible before slipping into the school.

That day Charlie seemed to have quite a bit of difficult time focusing on her studies, despite that announcement that rang out over the loudspeakers before the first bell. "_Attention, students. This is your principal. I know you're all wondering about the incident that occurred last night to one of our buses. While the police work to determine what happened, classes will proceed as scheduled." _

Yeah, right. The administration office was clearly functioning under some state of mass self-delusion, because there was no way in hell that anybody was going to be concentrating on their studies after what had happened on that bus. No, that Thursday was going to be dedicated to rampant speculation, and she was no exception. She kept her comments to herself, though, barely talking to Allison when she came into English, excepting a cheerful hello at the beginning of class and a smile and a wave when she left. Not that Allison noticed all that much anyway. She had been pretty preoccupied with Scott. The adorableness of those two was almost nauseating.

What Charlie did do was listen in on other people's conversations, trying out their crazy theories. Who had died, who or what had done it—the most colorful suggestion she had heard so far was a Yeti. But given the sheer level of destruction on that bus, Yeti seemed kind of plausible. She had heard a lot of whispers of 'mountain lion', but there was no way that a mountain lion had the strength to crush the metal of the door like that, pealing it down from the top. Yet another addition to the 'weird, unexplainable shit' file in the filing cabinet that was her brain. That file was getting pretty big lately.

English class blurred into math which blurred into economics which blurred into chemistry. Charlie diligently wrote down everything each teacher said, but she didn't really process any of the information. In one ear and out the other. As a matter of fact, by the time she got to fourth period chemistry, she had just given up altogether. The only thing on the blank page of her notebook was an elaborate doodle of a tree. Luckily enough, this time around she managed to snag a seat in the last row of the classroom, far away from Mr. Harris and his beady, rodent-like, near-sighted eyes. She was just adding the finishing details on some of the leaves when all of the sudden Mr. Harris's hostile voice called out across the room, making her slam her notebook shut and stare attentively at the chalk board. But he wasn't looking at her, thank God. He was looking at Stiles and Scott who were sitting one behind the other in the third and fourth rows.

"Mr. Stilinski," Mr. Harris drawled out with those weird overtones of self-satisfaction that always seemed to enter his voice, "if that's your idea of a hushed whisper, you might want to pull the headphones out every once and a while. I think that you and Mr. McCall would benefit from a little distance, yes?"

Stiles was facing away from her, but given his sudden shift in posture, Charlie could tell that he very much thought that he would not benefit from such a distance. A suspicion confirmed when he stammered out a weak 'no.' But Harris, the insensitive dictator that he was—emphasis on the 'dick'—waved the two of them off. Reluctantly, Stiles and Scott both collected their things and moved across the room while trading soulful glances. Charlie snorted into her notebook, playing the song 'I Will Remember You' by Sarah McLachlan in her head as they moved apart.

"Let me know if the separation anxiety gets to be too much," Harris called out snidely as they got up.

Scott began to move to the front of the class, opting to sit in a free seat at the front next to some girl wearing a hat. Stiles on the other hand, turned to the back of the class, scanning around for a free place to sit. When his eyes fell on her she gave a slight wave, which he returned, an expression of relief on his face. He made his way towards her, throwing his bag on the floor and almost falling into the free chair next to her.

He silently fished out his notebook while she opened hers again. Neither of them started writing anything down, though. Charlie just continued to sketch the tree and Stiles tapped his pen against the paper of his notebook, glancing at the back of Scott's head with what could only be described as an alarming frequency. Narrowing her eyes at him, Charlie leaned in slightly.

"I can try and ease you through the separation anxiety," she murmured, making him jump in his seat slightly.

He blinked in confusion and stared straight forwards at the chalk board. "Wh—what do you mean?" he asked making a face and shrugging slightly.

"I've been working on a Scott impression," Charlie drawled out casually, still sketching the tree in front of her. "Not to brag or anything, but I think it's getting pretty good. I always like to bring authenticity to my roles."

Stiles snorted lightly and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Are you about to make fun of my best friend?"

"Yes, absolutely I am," Charlie replied, nodding definitively. "Why? Is that going to be a problem?"

"Nope, not at all," Stiles answered almost immediately through a restrained laugh. "Just wanted to clarify. Hit me."

"Okay," Charlie said, dropping her pencil and turning slightly to face him. "Are you ready for this? Because in a few seconds you won't be able to tell where I end and Scott begins." As soon as the words left her mouth, she wrinkled her nose in distaste and shook her head. "That sounded a lot dirtier than I meant it. I think I just emotionally traumatized myself."

Stiles rolled his eyes heavily and nudged her arm with his elbow. "Just do it already. Pretty soon Harris is going to turn around and I don't think I can miss out on this."

"Okay, here it is," Charlie whispered, blowing out a long breath. She twisted her head around, cracking her neck, shook out her limbs, cleared her throat, and took a sip of the water bottle sitting next to her on the desk.

"What are you doing?" Stiles inquired, giving her a weird look.

"Be patient, I'm getting into character!" she hissed back. After a few more moments of preparation, she let her shoulders sag slightly and rearranged her features into that 'lost puppy' expression Scott always seemed to have. "Blah, blah, Allison, blah, Allison, lacrosse, I hate Jackson, blah, Allison, blah, blah, blah."

Stiles stared at her dumbly for a moment, making a creeping feeling of discomfort take up residence in the pit of her stomach. Line crossed? But a few seconds later Stiles shoved his fist in his mouth, practically swallowing it to suppress the fit of laughter he was sent into. When he finally managed to choke back the laughs he pressed his lips together in a thin line and nodded enthusiastically. "That was uncanny. It was like he was right here with me."

"I know," Charlie mumbled with false earnestness. "I have a gift. I think I might audition for the Spring musical."

"I would totally go see that."

"I appreciate the support."

The two of them fell into silence again, and began pretending to pay attention to Harris and his boring lecture on molecular polarities. Charlie stole a few sidelong glances at Stiles. He was trying to pretend to pay attention to Harris as well, but it was obvious that there was something else on his mind. Now that she thought about it, Stiles was the best pipeline of information that Beacon Hills had to offer, with regards to official information at least. The authorities weren't likely to dispense of information freely, but Stiles had access that nobody else outside the police force had. The only issue was whether or not he was willing to share that information with her. Which, quite frankly, she wasn't sure he would do. But it was still worth a try.

"Do you know if they've found the victim yet?" Charlie asked quietly, making Stiles's head snap in her direction.

"What—what do you mean?"

"Come on, Stiles," she whispered back. "I got here early and saw the bus. I talked to your dad and he said—"

"Wait, you talked to my dad?" he said, paling slightly. "What did he—I mean what did you—"

"He pulled out a bunch of naked baby photos," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Stiles, I asked about what had happened. He said they hadn't found the victim yet. I just wanted to know if—"

Her query was cut off by a shout at the front of the class. "Hey, I think they found something!" the girl in the hat sitting next to Scott shouted. After a few seconds of chairs scraping against the floor and eager murmuring, the entirety of the class was at the window. Charlie indelicately pushed her way to the front of the group and pressed her hand against the glass, peering at the scene below.

There were two paramedics and two deputies surrounding a stretcher, pushing what looked to be an unconscious grey-haired man towards an awaiting ambulance. Charlie pressed herself closer against the glass, practically mashing her nose into it, in order to get a better look. There was blood in the man's hair and covering his face. The room reached an unnatural level of quiet as the students peered at the street below. Then all of the sudden the man jumped up on the gurney jumped up and let out a visceral, primal scream, causing all the students to jump in fear.

Needless to say, Harris didn't get all that much more out of that class. The whispers and theorizing were irrepressible. Groups formed and would not be broken up, even by Harris's threats, none more frantic than the dynamic duo of Scott and Stiles who holed up in a corner. Charlie, though, she stayed silent for the rest of the class. She couldn't get that guy's face out of her head. Complete, utter, undiluted terror. It was harrowing. It kind of felt like looking into the eyes of death, and it made her wonder what he had seen. When the lunch bell rang, Charlie slowly shoved her books in her bag and walked out the door.

"Hello!"

As soon as she exited the classroom, an overly enthusiastic and chirpy voice shouted in her ear, making her jump in surprise and drop her bag and sending its contents scattering across the floor. Sighing heavily, Charlie squatted down and began grabbing her stuff. "Jesus Lydia," she murmured under her breath, "you scared the crap out of me."

Lydia leaned against the wall and casually flipped her hair over her shoulder. "It's good that you've finally learned to fear me," she said lightly. "Most people do so instinctively. You really don't have the best learning curve."

Charlie sighed and pushed herself up to her feet. "Are you only here to demonstrate how terrifying you are or is there another purpose to the escort."

"You've been avoiding me all day," Lydia said, giving Charlie a pointed stare, looking her up and down. "Now I know why. You didn't want me to see you in those clothes. You look like you just stumbled out of a thrift shop."

Ignoring the jab, Charlie shot Lydia a skeptical look. "It's barely noon," she pointed out, raising her eyebrows at the girl. "That does not qualify as all-day-avoidance. Plus, in case you haven't noticed, there's other crap going on right now."

"Ugh, don't even get me started on that whole situation," Lydia said, waving down the hallway in the direction of where the buses were being kept. "Everybody has been talking about that all day. It's depressing. Like I really want to hear about some guy who got attacked by a mountain lion."

Charlie wrinkled her nose in response. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously." Lydia pushed herself off of the wall and took a few steps towards forward, linking her arm through Charlie's. "Now come on," she said, dragging Charlie down the hallway towards the lunchroom. "We're eating at a different table today."

"Why?" Charlie demanded, trying to keep up with Lydia's determined step. "You're usually pretty dead set on us eating at the center table."

"Yes, because it has the most exposure," Lydia explained, still yanking Charlie along after her. "But today there's another objective." She paused, no doubt waiting for Charlie to ask what that objective was—something that Charlie refused to do on principle. After a few moments of silence Lydia let out a loud scoff and continued. "We're losing Allison. She's sat with McCall and that little friend of his every day so far this week."

"So?" Charlie demanded.

"So if she doesn't come to us, we go to her," Lydia explained in a slow, drawn out voice. "We need to rope her into some more activities—cement the relationship. Do you have a problem with that?"

Charlie just shrugged and gave a noncommittal jerk of the head. Honestly, she didn't have a problem with that—she didn't mind hanging out with Stiles and Scott. But Stiles and Scott might have a problem with hanging out around Jackson. Oh well. It was all out of her hands now. Rule one with Lydia: what will be will be. Fighting it is an exercise in futility.

The two girls caught up with Allison just before the lunch line. It almost felt like a military formation, the way they flanked her. "Hey, Allison!" Lydia said brightly as she sidled up next to the girl.

"H—hey Lydia," Allison said hesitantly. "Hey Charlie." Charlie just gave her a single wave and continued to the lunch line, refusing to be a part of the process.

"So," Lydia said cheerfully, "I was wondering if we could sit with you and Scott for lunch today. I really would like to get to know him better. I know he and Jackson have had their problems in the past, but I think it would make everything a lot more enjoyable if we could all be friends."

A confused expression appeared on Allison's face, but it quickly morphed into one of…..joy? Contentment? Happiness? Charlie couldn't quite place it, but she knew that Allison would ultimately end up regretting it. And probably soon. Charlie shook her head and grabbed one of the trays, maneuvering into the lunch line.

"Okay, sure," Allison said, nodding slightly. "Yeah, yeah I think that would be a good idea."

A wide smile split across Lydia's face, showing a good number of her teeth and ultimately making her look vaguely menacing. "That's great," she said, whipping out her phone and punching in a text. "I'll let Jackson know."

While Lydia was busy networking, Allison turned to Charlie with a smile on her face. "This is great," she said happily. "I feel like I've been dividing up my time so much I've been missing out on half the things that go on." She pursed her lips and frowned slightly, running through the memories in her head. "You know I don't think I've really spoken to you about anything but Scott over the past couple of days. Except for chemistry, and that's just depressing. We need to catch up. What's new with you?"

Charlie blew out a long breath and shrugged her shoulders. She pushed herself up on her tiptoes and then lowered herself on her heels. "I think I'm taller."

Allison snorted and shoved Charlie lightly in the shoulder before grabbing a tray herself. Charlie sped through the line while Allison chatted with Lydia about her date with Scott the next day and immediately made a beeline for Stiles and Scott who were sitting in their usual spot near the window. The two of them appeared to be talking about something kind of serious.

"You can't just cancel your entire life," she heard Stiles whispering as she came up behind him. "We'll figure it out."

Charlie unceremoniously slammed her tray down on the table just to the left of Stiles, causing both of the boys to jump.

"H—hey, Charlie," Stiles stammered out as she pulled out the chair next to his and sat down.

"How's it going," Scott tacked on, swallowing heavily.

"Okay, so here's the deal," she said abruptly, opening up the fruit cup on the tray and digging in to it. "You're about to be invaded. The ETA's is at about fifteen seconds, so if there's any weirdness going on you're going to want to tuck it aside in a deep, dark corner."

Scott let out a nervous laugh. "What—what are you talking about?"

Charlie opened her mouth to explain, but before she could the answer itself came marching towards them in designer pumps. "That," Charlie said simply, jerking her head in Lydia's direction.

"Hello boys," Lydia smirked, planting down her tray on Scott's left and taking a seat. "Mind if I join you?"

The wonder twins sat there with their jaws hanging open in shock, not quite sure what to do with this recent development. Stiles glanced between Lydia and Scott a few times before leaning forwards and whispering 'why is she sitting with us?' under his breath. Scott just stared back with equal confusion. Confusion which mounted when Lydia was followed by Danny who sat on Stiles's other side and some lacrosse jock Charlie wasn't all too familiar with took the seat next to Lydia. Allison took the spot on Scott's other side that he had saved for her, directly opposite from Charlie, and then Jackson walked up, glowering at unnamed lacrosse jock.

"Get up," Jackson ordered casually. The guy just stared up at him with a disappointed expression on his face. "How come you never ask Danny to get up?"

"Because I don't stare at his girlfriend's coin slot," Danny smirked back. The guy sighed I exasperation, but got up, clearing the way for Jackson who plopped down, a look of self-satisfaction on his face. Though to be fair that was how his face usually looked.

"So I hear they're saying it was some kind of animal attack," Danny said, immediately jumping into the issue of the day. "Probably a cougar?"

"I heard mountain lion," Jackson said casually, taking a bite of his apple.

"A cougar is a mountain lion," Lydia bit out, rolling her eyes slightly. That was one of the weird aspects of her relationship with Jackson. His relative stupidity sometimes frustrated the hell out of her, but at the same time she would go out of her way to maintain his feeling of superiority. Which is why when he looked at her curiously, she let a bemused smile cover her face and said, "Isn't it?"

"I don't know," Charlie mumbled into her plate. "I'm not sure I'm buying this whole 'mountain lion' thing."

Jackson let out a loud snort and rolled his eyes. "So you're saying you know better than the entire police department."

"Of course not," Charlie said, shooting him a withering glare. "But did you see that bus? Those claw marks did not look like a cougar. Cougars have four toes with four claws. The marks on the bus had five claws, ergo not cougar. And cougars are predators—they usually attack to eat and the ones that come into to heavily populated areas are usually sick or malnourished, so they're looking for food. That guy was torn up, but it didn't look like anything took a bite out of him. Anyways, the cops themselves haven't said definitively what they think it is."

Charlie looked back down at her plate and began stabbing at the tater tots with her fork. It took her a few moments to realize that nobody else was talking. She looked back up and found the table staring at her—Lydia in frustration, Jackson in contempt, for some reason Stiles's mouth was hanging open slightly, and Scott looked….worried?

"What?" she demanded slightly hostilely and quite defensively, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back in her seat. "I watch a lot of the Discovery Channel."

Jackson scoffed loudly and head. "Who cares?" he said snidely, throwing his hands in the air. "The guy's probably a homeless tweaker who's going to die anyway."

"Wow, Jackson," Charlie said, raising her eyebrows at him. "Your compassion is just blowing me away. Tell me, when you ran over that hobo over the summer was it an accident or were you hunting him down for sport." Jackson glowered at her, making her smile back sweetly. "I'm just kidding, Jackson. I know you'd never risk the paint job on your Porsche."

Danny chuckled slightly into his plate, making Jackson roll his eyes. When Stiles laughed a bit, though, he rounded on the poor guy. "You got something to say, Stilinski?"

"Yeah, actually," Stiles said, fumbling with the phone in his hands. "I just found out who it is—the guy who was attacked. Check it out."

He held out his phone to the middle of the table and Charlie leaned in, peeking over his shoulder. It looked like a fairly cheap image, filmed from a hand-held camera, of policemen milling around the bus, Stiles's dad included. "The Sheriff's Department won't speculate on the details of the incident," the voiceover rasped through the tiny speakers, "but confirmed victim Garrison Meyers did survive the attack. Meyers was taken to a local hospital where he remains in critical condition."

They were left with the image of an old man, wearing a suit and smiling at the camera, like he was at his daughter's wedding or something. Charlie swore loudly and ran her hands down her face. "So not a homeless tweaker, then," she muttered bitterly.

"Guess not," Stiles mumbled, shooting her an equally somber expression.

All of the sudden, as the man's face appeared, Scott tensed up. "Wait," he interrupted, grabbing at the phone. "I—I know this guy!"

"You do?" Allison asked, her voice thick with concern and confusion.

"Yeah!" Scott responded, looking at everyone at the table, a weird sort of anxiety in his eyes. "When I used to take the bus back when I was living with my dad—he was the driver."

"Can we talk about something slightly more fun, please?" Lydia interjected, completely destroying any sense of seriousness the moment might have. Lydia Martin, the poster child for desensitized teenage apathy. She pursed her lips and waved her fork around slightly, considering what she considered to be more suitable conversational options. "Like…oh! where are we all going tomorrow night?" Lydia turned to face Allison, raising her eyebrows expectantly. Allison, who was in the middle of taking a bit of her salad, practically choked on her food and stared back at Lydia, eyes wide with something slightly resembling terror. "You said that you and Scott were hanging out tomorrow night, right?" she prompted.

Allison shifted under the expectant stare, unsure of what to do. "Um…we were thinking of what we were going to do," she hedged, evidently thinking that not having defined plans might deter Lydia's insistence on the issue. She glanced at Scott, silently begging for help. Oh, poor, sweet, naïve Allison. She had no idea. Lydia wasn't oblivious—she knew exactly what she was doing.

Letting out a loud groan, Charlie leaned forwards, letting her forehead slam down on the table in front of her. Stiles shifted slightly next to her, leaning towards her so that he could whisper quietly. "What exactly is going on here?" he mumbled near her ear.

"Just close your eyes and wait for it to be over," she mumbled back. "It's not going to be pretty."

"What degree of carnage are we talking about?" he inquired further.

"Use _Evil Dead_ as a frame of reference."

There was a short pause and Stiles straightened back up, but not before a barely audible 'oh, crap' reached her ears.

"Well," Lydia chirped out in a determined tone, "I am not sitting at home watching lacrosse videos again, so if the four of us are hanging out tomorrow night we are going to do something fun."

"H—hanging out?" Scott stuttered out, sounding fairly insecure. Charlie peaked up from her spot on the table to see Scott looking at Allison with an incredulous expression, and glanced to the side to see Stiles with a hand over his mouth, clearly feeling just about as traumatized as she was.

"Like…the four of us?" Scott continued, his tone of voice making Charlie want to cringe. "Do you want to hang out like us and…them?"

"Yeah," Allison said in the squeaky, high-pitched voice of somebody put on the spot. "Sounds fun."

"You know what else sounds fun?" Jackson interjected, contempt coloring his voice. "Stabbing myself in the face with a fork."

"You stabbing yourself in the face with a fork sounds fun to me too," Charlie murmured into the fake wood laminate.

"You know what, Oswin?" Jackson snarled, "why don't you go—"

"Charlie," Lydia interjected brightly, cutting off Jackson's insult, "why don't you come too? We could go bowling."

Charlie suddenly straightened in her seat, yanking her head off the table. "No," she said, shaking her head frantically. "No absolutely not. I'm not comfortable with the idea of crashing someone's date as a third or fourth wheel. Crashing as the fifth wheel is absolutely absurd."

The smile on Lydia's face faltered for an millisecond and Allison shifted uncomfortably at Charlie's words. It made her feel a little guilty, translating all the subtext to actual text, but wasn't like they didn't know what was going on already. Lydia was certainly aware she was forcing herself into the date, she just wasn't used to being called out on it quite yet. But, luckily enough, Jackson was there to diffuse the tension with a biting comment.

"Well I've got to say Chuck, you not being there makes the idea a hell of a lot more enjoyable," Jackson said through a wide smirk. "But I'd still rather gnaw off one of my own toes."

"Come on, Jackson," Lydia pouted. "You love to bowl."

Jackson scoffed loudly and narrowed his eyes at Scott. "Yeah," he said, rolling his eyes slightly and patting Lydia's hand. "With actual competition."

"How do you know we're not actual competition?" Allison demanded coyly, raising her eyebrows at him. She turned to Scott, a confident smirk covering her face. "You can bowl, right?"

Given the look of wide-eyed horror on Stiles's face as he stared at his friend, Scott definitely could not bowl. Scott shrugged and jerked his head to the side slightly. "Sort of."

"Is it—is it 'sort of'," Jackson goaded, leaning forwards on the table and fixing Scott with his 'intimidation glare, "or is it 'yes'."

Scott's jaw twitched in anger and he leaned forwards as well so that the two of them were trapped in a sort of staring contest. "Yes," Scott said with steely determination. "In fact, I'm a great bowler."

The two of them continued to stare each other down with that intensity only testosterone-fueled teenage males can have. Charlie's eyes darted back and forth between them, as the tense silence carried on. "Annnnnnnnnd, kiss," she said, slamming her hands down hard on the table.

Danny snickered loudly. "That's something I'd like to see."

The statement had its desired effect, though. Scott and Jackson finally broke eye contact, both of them looking more than a little bit embarrassed.

The rest of the lunchtime conversation reverted back to the usual topics—which teachers were a massive pain in the ass, the latest episode of whatever was playing on TV, debating who would win if cavemen and astronauts got into a fight. Personally, Charlie thought that last question was impossible to answer. Context was needed. If it was a bar brawl or something, the cavemen would totally win. If you were talking all out guerilla warfare, the advantage would go to the astronauts, what with their working knowledge of physics and basic engineering skills. That really wasn't the point, though. The point was that by the time she had finished her highly processed hockey puck of a hamburger, Charlie had come to a definite conclusion. She was going to help Scott not make an ass of himself, and maybe get a little bit of questioning in during the process of doing so.

After the final bell rang, she quickly dropped by her locker and jogged through the halls to get to Scott's before he left. When she got there, she saw him and Stiles disappearing down the stairwell and heading to the front door. Charlie walked briskly after them, dodging around all the other exceptionally slow moving students of Beacon Hills High School so that she could catch up. As she approached she could hear the two of them talking—Stiles with scolding overtones and Scott in anxious ones.

"—I don't think Danny likes me very much," she heard Stiles saying contemplatively, clearly veering off whatever topic they had been discussing previously.

"I ask Allison on a date and now we're 'hanging out'?" Scott groaned in frustration. "Hanging out?"

"Hold on," Stiles said, putting a hand on Scott's shoulder. "Am I not attractive to gay guys?"

Charlie snorted and picked up her pace so that she could catch up with them. "Don't sweat it, Stiles," she said, falling in line with the two of them. "If I was a gay guy, I would totally be into you."

The two boys stopped in their tracks and gave her a weird look. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Stiles asked, planting his hands on his hips.

Charlie ignored him and turned to Scott, a sympathetic expression covering her face. "So things kind of got a little out of control at lunch, huh?" Scott didn't say a word, instead just slamming his forehead against the nearest set of lockers. Stiles made a face and patted his friend on the back pityingly.

"Right," Charlie said nodding slightly. "So would I be correct in assuming that you absolutely suck at bowling?"

Scott wheeled around with wide eyes, shaking his head. "No."

"He's horrible," Stiles interjected, rolling his eyes in what looked like pity. "Really, genuinely terrible. Last time his finger got stuck in one of the holes and he ended up dropping the ball on his foot. It was embarrassing. And we were like eight. It was embarrassing for an eight-year-old, so now it would be like an epic degree of embarrassment. He might not be able to show his face again. Live, ever."

Scott paled and punched Stiles hard in the shoulder. "Dude!"

Stiles made a face and grabbed his shoulder where Scott had punched him. "What?!" he demanded, shooting Scott a hostile glare. "She literally just told Jackson she wanted him to stab himself in the face with a fork. Do you seriously think she's going to scamper off and tell him your deep, dark secret that you can't bowl? I'm pretty sure he's going to find out about that tomorrow when you humiliate yourself."

"Thanks for the support," Scott growled back.

"Hey, dude," Stiles said shrugging his shoulders, "just being realistic."

"Right….." Charlie drawled out, glancing back and forth between the two of them. "Well the reason I'm here is because I was thinking that I could probably help you out with that."

Stiles and Scott both blinked in surprise and glanced at each other, having some sort of weird silent conversation. Scott cleared his throat and turned back to face Charlie, eyeing her suspiciously. "How would—how would you help me?"

"Look," Charlie said matter-of-factly, glancing between the two boys, "according to Lydia I suck at pretty much everything, but there a couple of things I know a lot of things about: playing pool, beer—which was probably inappropriate given my age—, soccer—which apparently makes me a traitor to my country—, American cars, and...wait for it...bowling."

That only seemed to make Scott more confused, his eyebrows furrowing so his face adopted a sort of pinched expression. "What are you saying?"

Charlie rolled her eyes at what could only be intentional obtuseness. "What I am suggesting, Scott, is that we meet at the bowling alley tonight and I will do my level best to teach you how to bowl. I'm not guaranteeing anything, mind you, but it sounds like you could do with a little practice. Plus Jackson looks like he's pretty dead set on destroying you, so—"

"Yeah," Scott said, nodding eagerly. "Yes. Please—I mean thank you. It'll have to wait till I get out of work, though."

"Alright," Charlie said, nodding slightly. "I should let you know that I subscribe to a Mr. Miyagi teaching strategy, so before we start with the actual bowling you'll be washing my car." Stiles snorted slightly, but Scott just stared at her. "I'm messing with you, Scott," she said, raising her eyebrows at him. "What time do you get off of work?"

"6:30."

"Great. So we'll meet at the bowling alley at 7:00."

Scott winced slightly. "Can we make it 7:30? I've got to drop of dinner for my mom at the hospital."

"Okay, 7:30 then. Stiles, you're coming too."

"Wait, why am I coming?" Stiles asked, pointing to himself. "I don't need to learn how to bowl."

"Girl code," Charlie said, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "Allison's my friend. I can't be hanging out alone with her almost-boyfriend, especially before you two firm up the relationship. Also, I don't want Scott to think that I'm hitting on him again."

"Oh, come on," Scott whined as both Stiles and Charlie began laughing. "Can we please forget about that whole 'debriefing' thing?"

"Sorry, Scott," Charlie sighed out, patting him on the shoulder sympathetically. "I've got a long memory, razor-sharp wit, and very little pity. I don't think you'll ever live that one down."

"That's just great," Scott mumbled to himself. He glanced down at his watch and let out a loud groan. "Great, now I'm going to be late for work."

He took off down the hallway and practically exploded through the front doors. "Run, Scott," Stiles shouted after him, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound. "Run like the wind!" When Scott disappeared in the distance, Stiles turned back to Charlie, a small smile on his face. "Hey, thanks for helping him out," he said, jerking his thumb in the direction Scott had just run off. "He's kind of freaking out about this whole Allison thing."

Charlie snorted and threw her hands in the air in submission. "Hey, you don't have to tell me," she drawled out. "It's not like it's any different with Allison. I've heard the name 'Scott' so many times over the past few days, it doesn't even sound like a real word anymore. Anyways, I figured he needs all the help he can get, especially after that lunch today. That was—"

"Oh my God, it was brutal," Stiles said, running his hands down his face. "Don't remind me. The whole thing—" he waved his hand around absently "—it was like watching a train accident or one of those reality TV shows with the housewives yelling at each other. You want to look away, but you just can't. Plus Jackson has really had it out for him ever since he made first line."

Charlie let out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "Jackson is just trying to prove something to himself, and for some idiotic reason that involves proving that he's better than everybody else. And if he can't be better than them, then he just craps all over them. I kind of get _why_ he acts like such an ass-hat, but I honestly don't know how Lydia and Danny put up with it."

"Do you know Danny well?" Stiles asked suddenly, staring at her with wide questioning eyes.

"Well enough, I guess. We're not best friends or whatever, but I've known him pretty much since I moved here."

"Do you know if he likes me?" He continued, narrowing his eyes at her.

Charlie made a face and shrugged. "How am I supposed to kn—"

Stiles started staring off into the distance, a pensive expression covering his face. "I really don't think he likes me all that much, and I'm not sure why. Do gay guys just not like me? Is it something about my face or how I look?" He started waving his hand around his face indicating at it. "Could that be it? Because I don't remember doing anything to piss Danny off."

He looked back down at her expecting some sort of answer. Charlie just pressed her lips together in a thin line and exhaled sharply. "Well if we're going to do this pre-date bowling prep, I have to get homework out of the way." She spun on her heel and followed Scott out the front door, leaving Stiles standing in the hall way.

"Hold on—Charlie!" he shouted after her. "You didn't answer my—! Am I attractive to gay gu—!"

Charlie spun around and pushed her way through the doors walking backwards. "I'll see you at 7:30 Stiles," she called out, giving him one definitive wave before pushing her way out the doors.

"Right! 7:30!"

**Okay, so I'm really not sure how this one turned out. It started out super-serious and not all that funny, but hopefully it averaged out to okay. Charlie got to meet Sheriff Stilinski. I wanted her interaction with him to seriously contrast with the Papa Argent meeting. Also, not a ton of Allison stuff in this chapter, but I kind of wanted to focus on the solidifying of Charlie's friendship with Scott and Stiles, more of which will come this the next chapter (and maybe a little bit of Charlie opening up to somebody….)**

**PLEASE REVIEW! You guys have been so good to me, and you really have no idea how much I appreciate it. Please continue! Keep the muse full and happy. Love you!**

**Sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes.**


	9. Nobody Fucks With the Jesus

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to easythrowaway, prettyargents, ScornedxRose, Plague's Vengeance, FetusPosey3, Guest, ellisbellisballs, stilinskisgirl, Alice, corazondepapel, TameTheGhosts, Micaela M, xXbriannaXx, LynZahn, punkedoutrocker, Vee, VeeWillRockYou, heroherondaletotheresuce, and Another Anon for reviewing! And of course the super-awesome BrittWitt16.**

**Wow! Thank you guys so much for the review turnout! I'm sorry this chapter took so long to get out, but I've been really busy—job plus two internships equals timesuck. I hope you like the chapter. I'm really not sure how I like it. Writing it was kind of meh, but I don't know how to make it better and don't want to keep you waiting, so here you go!**

**Again, I love you guys so much.**

**Also, the chapter title is a quote from 'The Big Lebowski'. You guys should totally watch that movie.**

Chapter 9 – Nobody Fucks With the Jesus

She had no idea why, but Charlie loved the smell of the bowling alley. Objectively there was nothing all that fragrant about it—fried food, that neon orange fake cheese they use on nachos, cheap beer, and whatever oil it was they used on the lanes—but it smelled like her childhood. It was one of those childhood nostalgia things. She had practically grown up in a string of bowling allies. No matter which city they were in, her dad would always get himself a position in one of the local leagues. A lot of the time she would be sitting in the back doing her homework, peeking over the top of her books to keep track of the game.

Charlie arrived at the bowling alley about a half hour early and slapped enough cash on the counter for a dozen games and rented out a pair of those old shoes. She moved to the racks and ran her hands over the available options, trying to find the right fit. Eventually she settled on a blue one with the design of a skull wearing sunglasses and headphones. She picked up, judged the weight, and measured the distance between the holes to see if it fit her hand. She smiled slightly as she tried it out. Perfect.

Stepping onto the smooth wood surface in front of her lane, Charlie held the ball up to her face. She took three long steps forward, drawing her arm back, and then swung it forwards, releasing it with a bit of a spin. The ball flew down the lane, making that characteristic curve as it moved. "Come on," Charlie whispered to herself, leaning her head to the side and trying to psychically move the ball so it hit that center pin. "Come on, come on, come on."

The ball connected with a loud crack, but only six of the pins fell over. Charlie frowned and stuck out her lower lip in an immature pout. She was rusty. Good thing she had gotten there early to loosen up and refresh her familiarity with the game, otherwise that could have been pretty embarrassing after the way she talked herself up. She sent the next ball down the lane and it knocked over three more pins, leaving one standing. Not bad. Not particularly good, but not bad.

It didn't take that long for her to get back into the swing of things, pun intended. Within about twenty minutes she had worked her way back up to regular spares. It was really just a question of recalibrating her body movements. Bowling was all just physics when you broke it down to its base components, and once you were familiar enough with the movements, you just had to do the math.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Charlie went in for another shot. The ball sailed down the lane, its path slightly curved, and it hit just at the right of the center pin. It was just the right spot. All ten pins went clattering to the ground.

"Hell, yeah!" she shouted, pumping a fist in the air and doing a little jig. "That's what I'm talking about! Nobody fucks with the Jesus!" She spun in a circle, letting the flat surface of the bowling shoes slip against the smooth floor, and when she came to a stop she found herself face-to-face with two pairs of surprised looking eyes. "Oh, hey guys," she said planting her hands on her hips and nodding in their direction. "That was comically perfect timing."

"Did you just quote 'The Big Lebowski'?" Stiles asked, giving her a weird look.

"Um, yeah," she said, shrugging slightly. "It seemed contextually appropriate. And I am super-good at abiding."

Stiles snorted slightly and nodded in approval. "Awesome."

"What's 'The Big Lebowski'?" Scott asked in confusion, looking between the two of them.

Stiles groaned and rocked back on his heels. "Dude, you have _got_ to start watching some semi-decent movies. There's like an entire part of your personality that has been completely underdeveloped."

"Hold up," Charlie said, lifting up a hand to indicate them to pause before pointing at Scott. "Are you seriously telling me that you haven't seen 'Star Wars' or 'The Big Lebowski'? How about 'Pulp Fiction'? 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail'? 'Starship Troopers'? None of them?" She sighed heavily and ran a hand through her loose hair. "Please, _please_ tell me you're not a Michael Bay fan."

Scott just stared at her dumbly and opened and closed his mouth like a fish dying on the deck of a boat.

"Oh, man," Stiles said, running his hands down his face. "This is getting embarrassing."

Scott narrowed his eyes at his friend and let out a frustrated grunt. "The two of you have got to be my least favorite tag team ever." Stiles silently raised his hand in Charlie's direction for a high-five, which he promptly received, and Scott groaned even louder. "I thought you were here to teach me how to bowl, not criticize my movie choices."

Charlie blew out a long breath and nodded reluctantly. Waving a hand and indicating for them to follow, she moved towards the racks filled with bowling balls, and spun on her heel, crossing her arms over her chest as she faced them. "Okay," she said in a tone of determination, "first things first let's get all of the testicle related humor out of the way right now."

The boys both blinked and looked at each other in confusion. "The what?"

"You know," Charlie said, waving her hand absently. "'Wow, these are huge balls,' 'hold my balls'—immature guy humor stuff. If you think of it, I've already heard it at least twenty times. Get it out of your system or I fully intend to kick you in the balls."

Stiles winced heavily, but nodded. "Noted."

"Alright then," Charlie said brightly, shooting them a wide smile. "Let's get started then."

She clapped her hands and rubbed them together eagerly before turning to the rack. It was almost laughable just how much attention Scott was paying to her as she explained the finer points of ball selection—Stiles had barely repressed his laughter at that turn of phrase. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air. "What? You're the one that pointed it out in the first place."

Smirking slightly, Charlie turned back to the rack. She fought hard against her impulse to mess with him, and did so successfully for once. It was the earnestness that got to her. He was just so….desperate to impress Allison. Not that he was a desperate person—it was just that he was trying so hard. It was sweet. Eventually she settled on a solid black colored ball. She plucked it from the rack and felt the weight of it in her hands. "Try this one on for size," she said, holding it out to him. Scott took it from her and grabbed it in his hands, swinging it back and forth a bit. "How does that feel?" Charlie asked, nodding in his direction.

"Good," he said, nodding slightly. "It feels good."

"Alright, then," she said, smacking him hard on the back. "Let's see what you got."

Scott nodded and jogged up to their lane, leaving Stiles and Charlie sitting in the back. "Yeah, buddy!" Stiles shouted, clapping a bit. "Knock them dead. Or just down. Yeah, knock them down. That's the objective, right?"

"You sure you don't want to give it a try?" Charlie asked, collapsing into one of the garishly orange plastic chairs and propping her feet up on the ball return.

"Nah," Stiles said, shaking his head and taking a seat next to her. "You see before school started this year I came up with this rule. It involves me not putting myself in situations where I humiliate myself unnecessarily. All this—" he waved his hand around to gesture at the bowling alley "—this definitely qualifies as one of those situations."

"Oh, come on," Charlie said, rolling her eyes. "It's not like I'm going to go get all judgmental. And you can't be all that bad." At that moment Scott almost ran forward and hurled the ball down the lane. It got about a third of the way to the pins before sliding neatly into the gutter. Charlie let out a low whistle and shook her head. "And you certainly can't be that bad."

"Yeah, that was very much not good," Stiles murmured, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

"I think that's my cue," Charlie sighed out, pushing herself to her feet and moving towards Scott who was looking down the lane with a highly traumatized expression on his face. It was like he was envisioning the date the next day, and what he was seeing probably wasn't all that pretty. "Scott?" Charlie asked tentatively.

"Hm, yeah?" he said, staring at the ground. He sighed heavily and scratched at the back of neck, glancing up sheepishly from the ground. "That wasn't very good was it?"

Charlie blew out a long breath and shoved her hands deep in her pockets. "There's…room for improvement. Let me see your stance again."

They spent about a half hour going over the stance and strategy of bowling. She would demonstrate, Scott would try to emulate it, and Stiles sat in the plastic chairs, alternating between encouraging them and heckling them. Then nachos were involved. He actually looked like he was having a pretty good time, shoving processed food into his face and criticizing. After another gutterball, Stiles let out a loud groan and leaned back in his seat so far he almost fell out of it.

"Come on, Scott," he sighed, "it's like you're trying to _not_ hit the pins."

"I'm trying, okay?" Scott shot back, glaring at Stiles over his shoulder. "How's about a little bit of support?"

"You're getting plenty of that from Charlie," Stiles mumbled through a mouth filled with nacho. "I'm just keepin' it real."

"How about you keep it quiet?" Scott growled back.

Stiles just made a face and shrugged his shoulders. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Scott swore under his breath and turned to face the lane again. He was psyching himself out. That was one of the things about bowling—half of the game happens in your head. If you're freaking the hell out, then it's safe to say that things won't turn out all that well. Charlie cleared her throat loudly and walked up so that she was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

"I suck," he mumbled darkly.

Charlie sighed and clapped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Look, Scott," she said in a tone that she hoped was wise-sounding, "your problem is that you're treating this like a lacrosse ball. The dynamics of it are totally different. Lacrosse balls are slow enough and can be thrown fast enough, that you don't really have to take other factors into account so much. If there's a bit of curve to your throw, the ball is moving so quickly that it never really becomes a factor. It's different with bowling." She moved to the ball return and grabbed hers before rejoining him. "Okay, this time don't watch the ball, watch my hand—see what direction it's pointing when I release."

She took a deep breath and went in for the wind up, exhaling slowly as she released the ball. It made that perfect arc and curved in, hitting just to the right of the first pin. The pins were sent down in a cascade and Charlie smiled to herself, opting not to break into that uncoordinated victory dance of hers sin it would probably seem like she was rubbing it in Scott's face a little bit. She straightened and turned to face him again. "Did you see that?"

"Yeah…." He drawled out slowly. "Yeah I think so."

Scott waited for the pins to be reset and went in for one more try. He did the same thing she did, exhaling slowly as he released the ball. He didn't get a strike, but he did knock down seven pins. "Alright," Charlie said, slapping him on the back, "now clean it up for a spare."

"Okay," Scott said with a smile, bouncing up and down on his feet a little bit as a tiny bit of hope seemed to spark in his eyes.

Charlie snorted slightly at the sudden child-like enthusiasm that suddenly appeared and moved away from the lane. She plopped down in that same chair next to Stiles, reaching over to grab one of his nachos. Before she could get one, though, she felt her hand being slapped away.

"Hey!" Stiles shouted, swatting at her hand. "Who said you could have any of that?"

Charlie rolled her eyes and glowered at him. "I skipped dinner," she grumbled back, reaching over and wrenching the nachos out of his hands. "If I don't get some disgustingly awesome fake cheese into my stomach right now, I might pass out."

"You know generally people ask before taking other people's food," Stiles said bitterly, raising his eyebrows at her. "It would have taken like ten seconds."

"Yeah," Charlie snorted, "but if I asked I'd run the risk of you saying no."

"And that's not a risk you were willing to take?"

"No," Charlie smirked, popping a nacho in her mouth. "No, it certainly was not." She shoved a handful of chips into her mouth and began to chew frantically. Man, she was starved.

Stiles reached over and grabbed one of the chips, holding it up to the light and looking at it like he was appraising a freaking diamond. "Why is this fake cheese stuff so good?" he asked, taking a large bite. "I mean, it looks like someone dumped a bunch of those orange highlighters into a vat of glue, but it tastes so damn good."

"Okay, one," Charlie replied, holding a finger up to indicate. "Thank you so much for that mental image white I'm in the middle of eating the highlighter-glue. And two, I think it's because we know it's so terrible for us. It's like a mini act of rebellion. It tastes so good because we know it's bad for us."

"Like cheesy 80s scifi movies."

"Exactly."

Charlie sat up straight in her chair and craned her neck, trying to get a better look at what Scott was doing. He was still standing there, eyeing them like he was in the middle of an old Western shootout.

"Scott, just throw the freaking ball!" Stiles called over. "It's not like they're going to come to life and seek revenge for their fallen comrades!"

"Though that would be a totally awesome movie," Charlie interjected.

"You bet it would," Stiles replied. The two of them watched as Scott finally got around to throwing the ball, knocking down the remaining pins for a spare. He spun around, a smile of excitement and relief on his face, and Charlie and Stiles both gave him a thumbs-up. "Good stuff, Scott!" she called over. "Just keep practicing that."

She turned back to the nachos she had now claimed full ownership of and took one of the chips, swirling it around in the small lake of fake cheese. She had a weird feeling that she was being watched, though, and glanced up to see Stiles eyeing her suspiciously. Frowning slightly, Charlie straightened in her seat and adopted a slightly defensive posture. "What?"

Stiles just shrugged and jerked his head to the side. "Nothing. I'm just trying to figure out why you volunteered to help Scott out with this little problem. I mean, I'm sure there's other stuff you'd rather be doing so….why are you helping him?"

Charlie made a face and shrugged her shoulders. "Do I need a reason?" Given the look on Stiles's face, the answer was clearly a loud, resounding yes. Charlie sighed and pursed her lips, eyeing him back with an equal degree of suspicion. "Maybe I'm just a gooey romantic who wants Scott and Allison's first non-date to be perfect so they can skip off into the sunset, hand in hand." The look she received in response could only be described as skeptical, making her bristle slightly. "Fine," she continued. "Schadenfreude."

Stiles shot her a weird look. "Bless you?"

"It's German," she started to say, before being cut off by another loud groan from Stiles.

"Great," he mumbled. "Now you know German too. You're like the freaking Rosetta Stone. Pretty soon when you get called up to the board in Hobson's class, you're going to start writing your responses in hieroglyphs."

"I know one word of German, okay?" she drawled out, holding up a finger to demonstrate. "Just one. Schadenfreude means the pleasure you might take from someone else's misfortune. In this case, Jackson's. You saw his face—he was practically giddy at the idea of taking Scott down. Sue me if I want to see that insufferable smirk wiped from his face every once and again. And then there's the fact that I like Scott and I like Allison. And finally there's the added bonus that I get to spend a couple of hours not talking about girly stuff. I mean, I love Lydia and all that, but she talks about what she wants to talk about—and what she wants to talk about sometimes makes me want to shove an ice pick in my ear."

"Schadenfreude?" Stiles interrupted. "It actually means that? That is a seriously awesome word. Who knew the Germans were so good at expressing themselves."

Stiles yawned and stretched theatrically, his eyes roving around the bowling alley, studying all of its facets like he was the host in some sort of wildlife documentary. "So how did you get so into all of this stuff?" he asked, waving his had around. "I mean not a lot of teenage girls know so much about bowling."

"My dad did a lot of league playing when I was younger," she replied with a shrug. "When he couldn't get a sitter he would take me along. I got really good at trash talking by the time I was like eleven."

"Wow," Stiles said, considering her words. "That makes a lot of sense. I could totally see you in pigtails, cursing at a bunch of middle-aged men."

"Shut up," Charlie grumbled, smacking him in the chest. Though the mental picture he was painting had a fairly high degree of accuracy.

"No, this is good," Stiles continued, laughing slightly. "I'm picturing an angry Gerber baby. Just waddling on up to some old, fat guy and going 'You're entering a world of pain'!"

The last of the words came out in a weirdly high-pitched voice that presumably was supposed to sound like a baby. Charlie wrinkled her nose and gave him a weird look, making Stiles wince slightly. "Let's forget I just did that," he said, waving his hand like he was pushing away the thought.

"Yeah, I think it would be best," Charlie said, nodding in agreement.

Stiles let out a loud sigh and glanced around. There was a kid's birthday party going on in the far corner—all of the kids with blue icing smeared on their faces, clearly about to go on a massive sugar rampage. Just to the left of them there was what looked like a group of war vets right next to them, looking like they were getting just a little bit drunk and cursing at each other while the moms from the birthday party glowered pointedly at them. And then there were a few couples who were clearly on dates, the guys showing the girls how to throw the bowling ball, standing as close to the girl as possible while they did so. Charlie snorted at the scene in front of her. With all of the totally disjointed groups, it kind of looked like the Island of Misfit Toys. But these were her people.

Stiles on the other hand didn't seem too incredibly enthused. He kept tapping his hands on everything he saw like he was playing the drums, and the only time his hands stayed still, he was drumming his fingers. "I really don't get the appeal," Stiles said, waving his hand around to indicate at, well, everything. "I mean it seems a bit boring. There's a lot of sitting around and doing nothing."

"Not really your style?" Charlie asked, raising her eyebrows and looking at this hands, which were currently drumming out some unknown tune on the shin of the leg he had crossed.

Following the line of her vision, Stiles's hands stopped their tapping and he laughed lightly. "Yeah, not so much."

"Well usually it's not really about the bowling itself," she muttered, sliding down in her seat and placing her feet on the ball return again. "It's more about the people than anything else. Though I have to say it's usually more fun with beer."

"Beer?" Stiles inquired, giving her a funny look.

"Yeah," Charlie said through a snort. "I actually have a theory that you actually get better at bowling after a drink or two." Stiles continued to look at her oddly, so she shrugged and jerked her head to the side noncommittally. "My dad and I went bowling for my fourteenth birthday and he bought me my first beer. After that whenever we went bowling together he would sneak me one. Call it a….European approach to drinking—learn to do it responsibly at an early age, you won't abuse it."

Stiles let out a long, low whistle and smiled. "Man, your dad sounds awesome. Next time he decides to take you bowling, tell me. I think I'd like a good cold glass of whatever's good."

Charlie opened her mouth to respond, but then quickly snapped her mouth shut again. That was the one major problem with not talking about her dad all that much. She would eventually end up in situations just like this one. If she talked about it more, word would get around, and if word got around, people would know not to walk into the giant puddle of awkward and discomfort that that conversation tended to be. Charlie squeezed her eyes shut and scratched at her forehead, preparing herself for the puppy dog eyes and high-pitched voice that typically followed.

"That's probably not going to happen," she mumbled, staring directly in front of her. "My dad sort of….he died. Last June, actually. I probably should have mentioned that earlier, but I'm not so good at leading with the serious stuff as you may have noticed."

She could feel Stiles studying the side of her face, so she went into 'compulsive eating' mode and shoved some more nachos into her mouth, chewing frantically. She waited for the characteristic 'you poor thing' or 'I'm so sorry' or one of those typical expressions of regret usually given by people who desperately want to start running for the hills, but it never came. After a few moments, she stopped chewing obsessively and stole a sidelong glance at Stiles. He was looking back at her with an expression, not of pity but of sympathy.

"So is that why you moved to Beacon Hills?" he asked gently, some way making it absolutely clear in the tone of his voice that she didn't have to answer if she didn't want to. "Did you move because of your dad?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding slightly. "That's why I moved in with Aunt Mel—who you have both met and spoken to on the phone—which I apologize for, by the way. It wasn't too bad, though. He was in the Coast Guard, so I was kind of used to moving around."

"You really—look you really don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Stiles said, giving her a pointed look.

"No, it's fine," Charlie said, waving a hand absently. "I really don't mind talking about him. I like talking about him actually. It's just that….other people. When I bring him up they get really uncomfortable and then I get—"

"The pity look?" Stiles filled in, shooting her an understanding expression.

Charlie opened and closed her mouth and blinked at him a few times before nodding. "Y—yeah," she stammered out, frowning slightly in confusion. Charlie furrowed her eyebrows and looked at him carefully. This time it was his turn not to look at her directly, instead shooting those instantaneous glances that she had been giving him the moment before.

Stiles pressed his lips together in a thin line and scratched nervously at his ear. "My mom," he mumbled quietly. "She—she, uh, yeah."

"Oh," Charlie almost whispered, her head snapping around so she was staring straight in front of her again. She was never all that good with social interactions in general, but emotionally charged ones were her kryptonite. So she did the thing her dad always did when she came to him with a question he couldn't answer—questions about makeup, boys, trigonometry, that kind of thing. She clapped her hand on his shoulder and shook it slightly, in a way that was supposed to be comforting.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, giving her a weird look.

"I have no idea," she murmured, shaking her head her head slightly. "I'm taking my hand off." She looked at Stiles for a moment and then nodded. "So I'm guessing there's a mutual understanding of certain rarified situations here." Stiles didn't answer, but then again he really didn't need to.

"So how is Mel holding up, then?" Stiles asked, glancing back at her.

That was actually a very surprising question. Most people never really thought past her own problems—the fact that she was essentially an orphan. She was the primary object of pity, and so she was the primary object of attention, just by the merit of that status. Mel, though, she probably had it worse than Charlie did, but didn't get nearly the same degree of attention.

"She's doing okay, I guess," Charlie said, nodding along with her own words and hoping that she actually agreed with them. "She's freaking out a bit. I mean, my dad and I moved around a lot so before a few months ago we never really saw each other except for holidays. There were lots of phone calls, but…..I think she's worried about screwing me up. Like I'm going to suddenly develop some weird social disorder where I start eating glue or something and that it's going to be her fault. I honestly think the whole thing is harder on her than on me. I mean, I lost something, but she was forced to become something, and now she's responsible for something. Not that I'm intending on being anything that she has to worry about, but she's going to worry and—and I'm just going to…..Alright I have no idea what the hell I'm going to do, but whatever it is, it'll be whatever it is that makes things better for her."

When she finished her weird, rambling speech, she glanced back at Stiles who was looking at her with a curious expression. Charlie exhaled sharply and ran her hands down her face. "This is getting way too emotional for a bowling alley," she said almost bitterly. "Let's find something else to be angsty about."

Stiles nodded in understanding. "Okay," he said softly. "Okay. So would you rather live through an alien invasion or a zombie apocalypse?"

Charlie cocked her head to the side and shrugged her shoulders. "That depends on the context. Is this purely for entertainment value or are we talking strategically?" The perplexed expression that she received in response made her roll her eyes. "Okay," she continued, adopting her 'explanatory' voice, "if we were talking about just kicking ass and taking names, zombie apocalypse is the way to go. But if you actually want to talk about long-term survival of the human race, I would go with alien invasion."

The look she received in response could only be described of as….offended?

"You think that survival in an alien invasion is more likely that survival during a zombie apocalypse?" he exclaimed in frustration. "Zombies are mindless, slow-moving beasts. They would be way easier to avoid. Pop them in the head and they're done for. Aliens—they've got all those cool futuristic weapons and stuff. They could incinerate you in like half a second." The then preceded to mime a gun, making some sort of weird laser and explosion noises. "Boom. You're dead. It's over. You can run away from zombies."

Upon hearing his response, Charlie felt her eyes roll involuntarily. It was the typical, shortsighted answer that everybody seemed to revert to, and quite frankly she had expected more. "In all alien invasion scenarios I've _ever_ heard of," she said, looking at Stiles pointedly, "the alien menace has some sort of motivation for their actions. Motivation makes all the difference. Motivation means something can ultimately be defeated. Zombies—as you just said, are mindless beasts. They're an infection."

"So you can establish quarantine zones and keep them out," Stiles replied, throwing his hands in the air. "As long as they have something else to eat—"

"Exactly!" Charlie exclaimed, snapping her fingers at her apparent foe emphasis. "All zombies want are brains. All that's left is that primal need for food. They have no thought, no life, no anima, nothing to lose and nothing to win, so they can never be defeated. All they want is Soylent Green. And Soylent Green is people, which I think I've made perfectly clear. You can't reason with them, you can't negotiate with them, and don't even get me started on incubation period for infected people. It's not something you can fight against when it comes down to it. As for alien invasion, you just have to make the cost of occupation too high, and then they'll leave."

Stiles looked at her with a disbelieving expression for a moment. "You've already thought out an entire line of reasoning for this kind of argument, haven't you?"

"Yes Stiles," she said, nodding her head a bit. "Yes I have."

Stiles let out a loud snort and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You are such a nerd."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"I'll bet you have post-zombie apocalypse survival strategy too," Stiles murmured to himself.

"Duh," Charlie replied. "It's just good planning. Semper paratus, bitch. I mean, have you even read 'The Zombie Survival Guide'?"

Stiles's neck snapped around and he stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes. "Um, only about a dozen times."

The conversation kind of spiraled from there. It started out with what to an outsider would probably view as alarmingly in-depth discussion of potential survival strategies. After that it veered into zombie movies—a subject Charlie felt quite strongly about, and apparently Stiles did too. Eventually they ended up fighting over which movie was the best—Stiles went classic with 'The Night of the Living Dead' and Charlie was sticking with 'Shaun of the Dead'. The idiot that he was, Stiles kept insisting that 'Shaun of the Dead' should be classified as comedy, not horror, and was therefore not a valid suggestion. Charlie was about to politely suggest that she use his head as bowling ball and throw him down the lane when all of the sudden there was a loud whoop from the bowling lane.

The two of them looked over to see Scott who was pumping a fist in the air in victory. "Did you see that?" he demanded, pointing at the end of the lane. "Did you just see that?"

"Uh, sure buddy," Stiles said making a face at Charlie.

"Definitely," Charlie said, nodding fervently. "It was…unforgettable."

Scott groaned loudly and kicked at the air. "I just got a strike," he mumbled, gesturing at the lane behind him. "And I think that the game is over." He walked up next to them and peered at the TV screen above their heads that tabulated the scores. "Ninety seven," he said excitedly, pointing at the screen. "That's pretty good, right? That close to a hundred? I'll be all set tomorrow."

"Definitely," Charlie said in a reassuring voice, standing up and giving him a pat on the back.

"Alright," Scott said through a smile, bouncing up and down on his feet a bit. "I feel good." He turned to her and Stiles with a slightly insecure expression on his face. "This is going to be good, right?"

"Scott, you need to calm the hell down," Charlie said, getting to her feet and clapping a hand on his shoulder. "The only problem you'll have is nerves if you keep psyching yourself out. And even if you crash and burn tomorrow, Allison's not going anywhere."

His head whipped around and he stared at her with those wide, innocent-looking eyes of his. "You really think so?"

"Yes," she replied simply. "Allison likes you, and being bad at bowling isn't exactly a deal-breaker. For her, I mean. It totally is for me."

"Really?" Scott asked quietly.

"Yes, really," Charlie said with a curt nod. "Those first few shots—I don't think I've ever been less attracted to somebody in my entire life."

"What? No. I mean Allison likes me," he said, prodding for more information. "She told you that?"

"Oh my God," Stiles groaned loudly. "Would she be going out with you if she didn't? Would she have kissed you if she didn't?"

"Dude," Scott hissed, shooting Stiles a glare.

"It's not like I don't already know about that," Charlie said matter-of-factly, folding her arms across her chest. Scott turned to her, looking slightly fearful. "What?" she mumbled, shrugging her shoulders. "Girls talk. And just so you know, you don't use too much tongue."

Scott paled slightly. "I was—she—what?"

"Let's just say you've got nothing to worry about and leave it at that," Charlie said, patting him on the back. "Go return your shoes."

Scott nodded and scampered off to the desk to while Charlie removed her own. "So a ninety-seven, huh?" Stiles said, watching his friend go. "That's pretty good."

"Yeah," Charlie drawled out, a guilty expression covering her face. "The point count in bowling is actually out of three hundred. Do you think I should tell him that?"

A loud, indelicate snort forced it's way out of Stiles's nose and he shoved his fist in his mouth to fight back the laughter. "Nah," Stiles replied, shaking his head and waving in Scott's direction. "I think we let him have this moment."

The three of them made their way to the parking lot where Scott thanked her—multiple times—with an earnestness that she honestly wasn't all that comfortable with. She didn't like it when people were all that grateful to her. It was kind of a lot of pressure in a weird way. And it's not like she had done anything insanely impressive—she taught him to bowl, it wasn't like she cured cancer or something. Still though, Scott stammered out his thanks and Charlie accepted it with an uncomfortable smile. The three of them were about to split up—go their separate ways—but Charlie had something to ask before they did. Hell, maybe the goodwill she had built up meant she might get a straight answer. Though she doubted it.

"Hey, guys," she called out as they moved to their car, making them stop and turn back to her.

"What's up?" Scott asked, giving her a curious look.

Charlie approached them and shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her shorts. This was going to be awkward. There was no way of avoiding it—especially since it was going to be such a random question.

"Yeah, so," she drawled out, looking between the two of them. "There's actually a question that I've been meaning to ask you for a while. It's a little bit weird, and a little bit random, but it's been bugging the hell out of me for a long time."

"Well that sounds interesting," Stiles said, giving her a weird look. "What is it?"

"What the hell is up with you guys and Derek Hale?"

Whatever they had been expecting from her, that question definitely wasn't it. The two of them blanched and looked at each other, giving off the air of two petty criminals trying to get their stories straight.

"W—why do you want to know about Derek?" Scott stammered out nervously. "I mean, why do you think I know him?"

Charlie furrowed her eyebrows and continued to eye them both warily. "As for why I think you know Derek, it might have something to do with the fact that he was looking for you at the party the other day. The whole 'where is Scott' thing was kind of a give away." Scott began nervously scratching at the back of his neck, clearly feeling uncomfortable. Not that that was going to deter her. "As for why I want to know about Derek, it's because of the face your making right now," she continued, waving a finger in his face. "You look kind of like a scared badger. Plus he drove Allison home that time, and I'm still not comfortable with that idea. Add that to the fact that he always seems to be around when weird shit happens and that for some reason the two of you thought that he killed his sister—"

Stiles twitched suddenly and wheeled around, looking for other people who might be within hearing distance. "How do you know about that?" he asked in a loud whisper.

"About what?" Charlie said, throwing her hands in the air. She obviously didn't know anything about anything—that's why she was asking the freaking question in the freaking first place.

"About us getting Derek arrested," Scott hissed.

Charlie felt her jaw drop, ignoring Stiles as he smacked Scott over the head and hissed some expletives at him. "You WHAT!?"

Scott, who was still rubbing the back of his head where Stiles hit him, looked up at her with surprise. "You didn't—I thought you—you just said that you—"

"I overheard you two talking in the woods back when you were looking for the half of her body!" Charlie exclaimed.

"Hey!" Stiles shouted, snapping his fingers and pointing at her. "It's—it's rude to eavesdrop on people."

"Right," Charlie drawled out sarcastically. "Because that's the takeaway here. You got Derek arrested for murdering his own sister. She died in an animal attack—why would you think he killed her?"

"How did you know it was his sister that died?" Scott demanded, getting jumpier by the second. "Or that it was an animal attack? How do you know about any of it?"

Charlie pushed the hair out of her face, shaking her head in frustration. "I read the freaking papers, okay? Stop evading the question. How the hell did you two idiots get him arrested?"

"The body," Stiles said in a resigned tone. "We found the second half of the body. It was buried on his property."

"Okay, that's suitably creepy," Charlie murmured, sighing heavily. "Why would he bury his sister on his property?"

"How are we supposed to know that?" Stiles said, pointing between himself and Scott.

"Because!" Charlie shouted waving her hands at them. "He seems to be at the epicenter of all the creepy weirdness that seems to be going on, and as far as I can tell the two of you are the only people who have had any contact with him at all!"

The two of them went silent for a moment, staring at each other and clearly having one of those 'silent conversations' they seemed to be so good at. "Look," Stiles said finally, adopting a more serious tone. "Derek—he's not a good guy. Just—just stay away from him, okay? For your own good I mean."

"Why?" Charlie growled, throwing her hands in the air in frustration.

Stiles shrugged a bit and cocked his head to the side oddly before planting his hands on his hips. " 'C—'cause."

Charlie exhaled sharply and ran her hands down her face in frustration. Well this conversation had been just about as productive as she thought it would be. She had access to a little bit more information, but she was just as confused as ever. Hell maybe even a little more so. She glanced down at her watch and saw that it read 8:56 p.m. There was only a half hour left before curfew.

"Okay," she said, shaking her head. "This conversation has been suitably frustrating. How about we just call it a day and I'll see the two of you tomorrow."

"Yeah! Yes," Stiles said immediately, smiling broadly and nodding.

"Tomorrow," Scott piled on, nodding as well.

Eyeing them suspiciously for one last time, Charlie spun on her heel and marched off towards her car. From behind her she could hear the hysterical whispers of Scott and Stiles as they discussed….something. Son of a bitch. She would hate those two if she didn't like them so damn much. Ugh. Boys were idiots. And according to Mel that would never completely change. They just became taller idiots with deeper voices.

Charlie leaned against her car as the two of them drove off in Stiles's Jeep. Stiles gave her an awkward wave as they drove past her, which she returned hesitantly. Those two and their weird-ass evasive behavior. It kind of surprised her that nobody else seemed to notice it as much. Jackson had some suspicions—she knew that much—but that was just him trying to maintain his ego. Nobody else really seemed to see it, though. Allison didn't, or if she did she didn't seem to be all that much bothered by it. And the more Charlie looked at it, the more she started to think that whatever those two were in on, it was at least a little bit dangerous.

The rambling monologue in her brain was cut off by the blaring of her phone. Charlie dug around in her bag until her fingers closed around the thing and looked to see Mel's name flashing across the front. She punched the send button and pressed it up to her ear. "Hey, Mel. What's up?"

"Hey, Charlie," Mel's breathless voice crackled from the other side. "I'm almost done closing up the shop."

"Just now?" Charlie demanded, her eyebrows pulling together in confusion. "It's almost 9:00."

"Yeah," Mel said, exhaustion creeping into her voice. "I needed to stay late to do some inventory. I was just wondering if you were done with the bowling thing with your friends."

"Just finished up," Charlie replied.

"Great," Mel mumbled absently. "I was just hoping that you could drop by Corleone's for some takeout on your way home. I'm starved and I don't think I can handle another frozen dinner."

"Of course," Charlie said nodding. "Mushroom ravioli?"

"It's like you read my mind."

"Alright, then," Charlie said. "You get your cute ass home like right now. You work too hard." She tossed her phone back in her bag and climbed into the car.

Getting the food, Charlie was kind of on autopilot. Her mind was still kind of stuck on the Stiles and Scott weirdness. She didn't know why it was bothering her so much. Maybe it was because things didn't seem to…..fit. It was driving her a little bit crazy. Like when you know something's off but you can't quite put your finger on it. Animal attacks, people being ripped in half, that bus driver—things were starting to get serious in Beacon Hills.

Within about fifteen minutes there was a Styrofoam carton filled with steaming ravioli on the back seat and Charlie was on the way home. The smell of it was beginning to make her hungry. Apparently half a serving of stolen nachos wasn't a fully balanced meal. She was tapping her fingers on the steering wheel and singing along to the music blaring out the speakers, but then something she saw gave her pause.

At 9:20 at night, the school should be dead. People were eager enough to get out of there during the day, so there should be absolutely no reason for them to decide to stick around. But as she passed by the school on her way home, Charlie could clearly see someone in the parking lot, jumping over the gate to get in and moving towards the buses. One bus in particular, actually. The one the driver had gotten attacked in.

"What the hell?" Charlie whispered to herself, craning her neck as she drove by.

She was driving too fast to get a good look at what was happening, but she did see one thing. A blue Jeep parked just outside the gates.

**So there it is. A little bit of bonding, a lot more suspicion, and some more weird-ass behavior and evasiveness. Again, not sure how it turned out. I wanted Stiles to kind of brush past the idea of her dad being dead as a sort of mutual understanding thing. Charlie can talk about her dad, but she hates talking about the fact that he's dead and Stiles sort of instinctively understood that.**

**Please review! The hungry muse has gone through all the food and is now eating my sheets, kind of like a goat.**


	10. Night Is When the Monsters Come Out

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to ScornedxRose, Micaela M, Neffyl, prettyargents, easythrowaway, LynZann, Moonyong98, casper6six6, TameTheGhosts, alvirgil, GeekaZoid, VeeWillRockYou, and Guests 1 and 2 for reviewing! And the super-huge-mega-awesome thank you to BrittWitt16, as always.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Jeff Davis, what the hell are you doing to me? First you make me ship Stiles and Cora, now you make Lydia kiss Stiles and give them that weird, meaningful moment? BAH! Okay, calm down. You're writing a Stiles/OC slow burn. Focus. Okay, then. Hope you like it.**

**If you want to know more about Charlie—i.e. her sense of style—check out my polyvore account. If you want to see it just go to the polyvore website and search for the member it-belongs-in-a-museum.**

Chapter 10 – Night Is When the Monsters Come Out To Play

What was she doing here? She had nothing to offer—no advice to give or suggestions to make. She was hapless, hopeless, she was completely useless. If somebody asked her a question, she had no way of answering it. All in all, there was no reason for her to be there. And as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her, she only felt more and more confused. She felt like she was in the middle of a swirling vortex of despair, sinking deeper and deeper as the pile of rejected clothes got bigger and bigger.

"Hey, Charlie!" Allison's voice piped up. "What do you think of this one?"

Charlie cracked an eye open and glanced in Allison's direction. She was currently lying back on the quilted covers of Allison's bed, dangling her feet over the side and kicking them back and forth, staring intently at the ceiling while Lydia and Allison were standing near the closet and going through Allison's clothes. Charlie really wasn't sure how she had managed to get herself roped into this. It's not like she had anything to add to the proceedings, so how the hell had she ended up there? Oh, right. With Mel still finishing up with inventory at her shop—something that would last till well after 10:00 p.m.—she really didn't have anything better to do. Except for homework, but doing homework on a Friday night was more than a little bit sad and she refused to do it on principle.

Pushing herself up on her elbows, Charlie studied the top Allison had just removed from the closet and squinted at it. It was a two-tone brown shirt with an abstract pattern of what looked like flowers and vines on it. It wasn't exactly something Charlie would wear herself, but it could be considered cute, not that she was the foremost authority on that kind of thing as Lydia continuously reminded her. She studied the top for a moment before nodding in approval.

"I think it's nice," Charlie murmured. She pushed herself up to the sitting position and tucked her legs underneath her, continuing to watch the selection process. It was kind of baffling, really, the weird teenage ritual they were going through. Charlie tugged at the ends of her hair absently wondering if anybody had performed anthropological studies on this kind of stuff, when Lydia marched up and wrenched the shirt out of Allison's hands, holding it to the light and studying it.

"Mmmm, pass," Lydia said, tossing the shirt into the ever-growing pile next to the closet.

"Why is it a pass?" Allison asked, furrowing her eyebrows in mild frustration. "Charlie thought it was fine."

Lydia let out a light scoff of derision and raised her eyebrows, looking between the two other girls. "Are you really going to trust somebody who's wearing that?" she said, disdainfully inclining her head in Charlie's direction.

Charlie frowned slightly and looked down at her ensemble, plucking at the fabric of the shirtdress. "I thought you wouldn't mind this one so much," she said through a yawn. "I mean it's a dress—I belted it and everything."

"You're wearing sneakers, Charlie," Lydia said, giving her a withering look. "Sneakers. Are you jogging? Are you going door-to-door selling Girl Scout cookies? Are you a soccer mom who's given up? Seriously, Charlie, put some thought into it."

"No, thanks," Charlie replied in a singsong voice, getting to her feet and meandering towards Allison's bookshelves. "I like to save the brain power for other things."

Lydia let out an audible scoff, but Charlie ignored her, instead running her fingers over the books on Allison's shelves. Most of them were the typical books you'd find in a teenage girl's room—'Harry Potter', 'The Hunger Games', 'The Mortal Instruments', that kind of thing—but as she brushed her fingers over the spines, they rested on one volume in particular. It wasn't a typical book. It was old and leather-bound with no title that she could see. Charlie's eyebrows pulled together in confusion and she plucked it from the shelves, letting it fall open in her hands. It had a sort of musty smell to it, the way old books usually do. Charlie inhaled deeply. She wasn't sure why, but she had always loved that smell.

Flipping through the pages, Charlie squinted at the text. It was in French—she could recognize that much—but it wasn't any dialect she was familiar with. Medieval—archaic maybe? And there were odd sketches of what looked to be strange mythic monsters. Charlie glanced back up at the other two girls, who were still standing at the closet. Allison was standing behind Lydia, her shoulders drooping slightly, as the red-head ripped through her wardrobe.

"Mmm, pass," Lydia said in her high-pitched 'I'm sorry but not really' voice as she pushed some shirts to the side. "Pass. Pass. Uh, pass on all of it. Look, Allison, respect for your taste is, uh, dwindling by the second."

Allison shifted on her feet a bit, clearly feeling a little bit of discomfort at Lydia's biting commentary. Charlie sighed and scratched at her forehead. This was why Lydia didn't have more friends who were girls.

"Hey Allison," she called out, making the other girls turn around. She held the book in the air, pointing at one of the picture in it. "What's with the book?"

Allison frowned slightly and took a few steps forward, looking at the book. "That must be one of my dad's," she said, glancing at some of the illustrations. "He's got this big collection of antique books—heirlooms, that kind of thing. It must have gotten mixed up with mine during the move."

"This is seriously cool," Charlie whispered to herself, continuing to flip through the pages and brushing her thumb against the rough paper.

"You think so?"

"Yeah, definitely," Charlie murmured, turning it sideways to get a better look at one of the illustrations. "It looks like some old school mythology stuff."

Her admiration of the antiquities was cut short by the oddly musical sound of Lydia clearing her throat. Charlie glanced up from the page to see the other girl still standing by the closet, hands planted firmly on her hips and looking between her and Allison expectantly. "Did I miss something?" she asked, whipping her hair over her shoulder with a shake of her head. "Did we suddenly decide to join Oprah's book club? I thought we were getting ready for a date."

"I was doing no such thing," Charlie said, collapsing back on the bed, rolling onto her stomach and continuing to look through the book. "I am not a part of this so-called group date. To be honest I'm not even sure why I'm here. It's not like I'm going with you guys."

"You're here to help Allison get ready," Lydia replied simply, turning back to the closet.

"You already know that I'm no good at that stuff," Charlie said through a yawn. "And honestly I think it's a bit pointless. Scott's already like 90% in love with her and it's not like he knows anything about clothes."

The look that crossed Lydia's face was a combination of disbelief, revulsion, and disappointment. "Okay, that's so not the point of this."

"You're here for moral support," Allison said, shooting her a soft smile. "And you know you can come with us if you want to."

The expression on Allison's face was almost a little bit hopeful. It was becoming abundantly clear that she was kind of afraid of so much time with Lydia, especially with Scott and Jackson around to argue with each other. Frankly there was a lot of potential for disaster in this group date thing, but if Charlie came along she probably wouldn't act as a buffer. She would probably end up stirring the pot, and that would end badly for everyone. And as much as she wanted to see the look on Jackson's face when she kicked his ass at bowling, it was probably be advisable for her to sit this one out.

Charlie pressed her lips together in a thin line and shook her head. "No thanks. I'd really rather not be the fifth wheel. Technically that would make me the spare that they strap onto the back of the CRV. They're clunky and get in the way and weight the car down. Jackson and Lydia will be making out and you and Scott will be being adorable—" Charlie abruptly cut herself off and pursed her lips, considering her own words. "Actually scratch the first metaphor. It implies that I would be involved in the thing at all. Really it's more like you guys are two bicycles and I'm the weirdo riding behind you on a unicycle with a creepy handlebar mustache and whistling carnival music."

Lydia sighed and shook her head. "You've always got to take it to a weird place, don't you?"

"Don't kid yourself, Lydia," Charlie sang out. "You love it."

"I could get Scott to invite Stiles," Allison suggested tentatively. "You guys are kind of friends, right?"

"Nope," Charlie said a little too quickly. Allison opened and shut her mouth quickly, clearly put off by the abruptness of her answer. Charlie cleared her throat slightly and shrugged. "I mean, yeah, we're sort of friends—we nerd out over similar things—but don't get Scott to call him. He says he's crap at bowling and I just don't think it would be the best idea." She kept quiet when she thought to herself that Stiles probably wouldn't appreciate seeing Jackson and Lydia all lovey-dovey. Hell, she didn't enjoy it all that much herself—or at all—and she wasn't in love with one half of the pairing.

"Is there something up with you and Stiles?" Allison asked in a tone of mild concern. "Are you mad at him or something?"

Charlie frowned slightly and shook her head before looking back to the book which now lay open on Allison's bed. "No. Why do you ask?"

Allison shrugged and waved her hand dismissively. "It's just that this morning during English class he seemed to be trying to get your attention to talk to you or something and you were totally ignoring him. I thought maybe he did something to annoy you or make you mad."

It was Charlie's turn to shrug. "Maybe I was just paying attention to Mr. Hobson's lecture."

At that Allison let out a rather indelicate snort, making Charlie look up from the book again. She shot Allison a questioning look which made the other girl roll her eyes theatrically. "Come on, Charlie," she drawled out, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "You never pay attention in Mr. Hobson's class—you always have an answer ready in your back pocket anyway. Hell, he's even stopped trying to catch you unprepared. He either really likes you or really hates you. I honestly don't know which."

"That's usually people's attitude towards me," Charlie said, idly flipping a page. "Then I tell them to make up their goddamn minds and stop being so freaking indecisive. After that the decision's usually made." Allison, clearly not satisfied with the answer, planted her hands on her hips and looked at Charlie with her eyebrows raised expectantly. "Fine," Charlie muttered. "The truth of it is that I'm trying my level best to behave myself. Parent-teacher conferences are coming up and I don't want Mel to think I'm being _insubordinate_. She's been working fourteen hour days at the shop lately and I don't need to be something else stressing her out."

"While this has been incredibly emotionally cathartic," Lydia interrupted, tapping her foot with impatience, "can we focus at the task at hand please. We're kind of on a deadline—we don't have the entire weekend for this."

Allison, apparently accepting Charlie's explanation, turned back to Lydia and the closet. The explanation was bullshit, though. Charlie wasn't ignoring Stiles's antics because she was trying to behave herself in Mr. Hobson's class—though she probably should. She was ignoring Stiles and Scott because she was, in fact, pretty pissed off at the pair of them.

It might be a kind of self-aggrandizing thing to say, but Charlie was used to understanding what was going on. She didn't pretend to have intelligence on Lydia's scale or anything like that—she was no genius and held no illusions about that fact—but she did possess a moderate degree of cleverness and a high degree of curiosity. Usually, if her curiosity latched onto something—some mystery or puzzle—she could figure out. Needless to say, she kicked ass at Clue. The problem was whatever it was that was going on in Beacon Hills remained a mystery. Stiles and Scott held the clue necessary for her to solve that mystery, and the two idiots refused to tell her. And that pissed her off. A lot. Maybe it wasn't fair of her to expect them to tell her—maybe that constituted an invasion of privacy—but she really didn't give a shit. She had been completely ready to let it go after the bowling alley, but for some reason seeing that Jeep outside of the bus-yard had clinched it.

Maybe the reason she was so incredibly irritated by all of this crap—the animal attacks, Derek Hale, even Scott—was because the more she looked into the individual elements of the mystery, the more impossible they seemed. Humans didn't have a tapetum lucidum, but according to flash photography Scott and Derek did. And then there were the claw marks on the bus, the ones she had snapped a photo of with her phone before scurrying into the school that morning. They had five claw marks. Afterward she had even downloaded the photo to her computer and blew up the image to double check. All that day Charlie had racked her brain trying to think of animals that might have five claws and not a single one popped into her head. So, like anybody with a slightly obsessive personality would, she got home and spent about an hour crouched over her computer keyboard and researching it. And what was the incredibly illuminating answer? Raccoons. Skunks. Freaking chipmunks. So unless there had been a spill of radioactive materials or a bunch of adorable furry woodland creatures had been exposed to massive amounts of gamma radiation, there was something wrong with that picture. Now the animal attacks were connected to Derek Hale and his sister and Derek Hale was connected to Stiles and Scott.

The not knowing was kind of like an itch on her back in an area she couldn't quite reach. It was always there and it was always bugging her.

"Huh," Lydia broke in, grabbing a shirt out of the closet and holding it up. It was black, covered in sequins, and flashing light in Charlie's eyes. "This. Charlie, what do you think?"

"Are we trying to make sure that Scott can see her in the dark?" she asked, raising her eyebrows skeptically. "Because if that's the endgame then that shirt is definitely the way to go."

"It never hurts to be visible, Charlie," Lydia chirped back, holding the shirt up to Allison's neck to show the shirt off in the mirror. "Boys don't always have the best attention spans and in my experience shiny objects do attract them. Like magpies. Maybe you should keep that in mind from time to time."

"Oh, I don't think Charlie has any problem being visible," Allison tacked on, shooting Charlie a soft smile.

"Thanks, Allison," Charlie murmured absently. Then she stopped for a moment and went back over the words in her head before adding in an "I think."

Allison took the shirt from Lydia and moved towards the full length mirror. At that moment Allison's dad came strolling into the room holding onto a faded green jacket. Charlie quickly flipped the old, leather-bound book shut and sat up on the bed.

"Dad, hello," Allison said in the sweetest 'what the hell are you doing here' voice possible.

Mr. Argent stopped and scanned the room, somewhat surprised to find three girls there. Charlie pressed her lips together in a wan smile and nodded in greeting. Mr. Argent inclined his head at her slightly, but when he focused on the mischievous expression covering Lydia's he paused.

"Right," he said, turning back and gesturing at the door. "I'm sorry, I—I completely forgot to knock."

"That's okay," Charlie said waving a hand dismissively. "The orgy ended like twenty minutes ago. You didn't interrupt anything."

He shot Charlie a withering look which she returned with a wide, slightly sheepish looking grin. Meanwhile, Lydia collapsed back on the bed next to Charlie, propping her head up on a hand and adopting an oddly seductive pose. "Hey, Mr. Argent!" she chirped, playing with the ends of her hair.

"Dad, did you need something?" Allison asked, her frustration showing a little more this time.

Mr. Argent just laughed lightly and pulled his jacket on. "I wanted to tell you that you'll be staying in tonight."

"What?" Allison demanded, an unhappy frown pulling at the corner of her lips. "I'm going out with my friends tonight."

"Not when some animal is out there attacking people," he retorted.

A pleading expression crossed Allison's face and she shook her head in denial. "Dad—dad, I'm—"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Mr. Argent interrupted in a tone of authority, "it's out of my hands. There's a curfew. No one's allowed out past 9:30 p.m."

"Yeah….but that's more of a guideline than an actual rule," Charlie drawled out. As a result she found herself on the receiving end of a severely un-amused look from Mr. Argent. She let out a small harrumph and folded her arms across her chest. "Clearly someone's not a fan of 'Pirates of the Caribbean'," she mumbled under her breath.

Allison rolled her eyes heavily and threw the black shirt she was holding over on the bed before folding her arms across her chest and glowering—the ultimate expression of teenage displeasure.

"Hey," Mr. Argent said, giving her a warning look. "No more arguing." He was about to leave the room when he noticed the book lying directly in front of Charlie, open to a drawing of a what looked to be a slightly serpentine wolf. He took a few steps forward and plucked it from the bed. "What's this?" he asked, glancing between Charlie and Allison.

"It got mixed up in some of my stuff during the move," Allison spat bitterly. "Charlie thought it was interesting. Is that a problem?"

Mr. Argent didn't respond. He just snapped the book shut and tucked it under his arm before spinning on his heel. No explanation given. With that he left the room, leaving a peeved Allison and a perpetually coy Lydia.

"Hm," Charlie said, clapping her hands and rubbing them together. "He is clearly anti-insubordination."

Lydia hopped off the bed and came to a stop next to Allison, looking at the doorway through which Mr. Argent had just disappeared. "Well," she chirped, a sly smile covering her face as she looked at Allison, "someone's daddy's little girl."

Allison gnawed on her fingernails, glaring after her dad. She began bouncing up and down on her feet a bit as an expression of steely-eyed resolve crossed her face. "Sometimes," she whispered. "But not tonight."

Without another word or an explanation, she grabbed the purple knit hat from her vanity and pulled it down over her long, brown curls. She spared one last slightly angry glance at the door and made a beeline towards the window. She wrenched the thing open and stepped out onto the ledge outside. Charlie turned to Lydia, who looked equally confused, and silently mouthed the words 'what the hell?'. Lydia just open and shut her mouth stupidly—for once—and the two of them scrambled towards the window to see what the hell Allison was up to. They leaned out of the window and saw her approaching the ledge.

"What are you doing?" Lydia demanded in a slightly high-pitched voice. But before giving any explanation, Allison hurled herself off the ledge, doing a full flip, before landing squarely on her feet in the garden below. Allison looked up at Charlie and Lydia with a wide smile on her face.

"You're a freaking ninja!" Charlie hissed, an impressed smile spreading across her face.

"Eight years gymnastics," Allison whispered back breathlessly. "You guys coming?"

Charlie and Lydia glanced at each other, sharing a look of understanding before turning back to Allison. "Yeah, we'll take the stairs," Lydia chirped.

The two of them backed away from the window and Charlie closed the window. "What the holy hell was that?" Lydia demanded, gesturing at the window.

"That was awesome was what it was," Charlie replied. "I would leave every room like that if I could. Talk about a dramatic exit."

After grabbing their things, Charlie and Lydia made their way down the stairs to be greeted by Mrs. Argent at the bottom. Charlie wasn't sure why, but that woman creeped her out. Maybe it was the eyes. They were an icy blue, sharp and intelligent, but for some reason Charlie felt like she could see a little bit of crazy lurking behind them. They were hard and calculating, just like Allison's father's. It made her wonder where the Allison's softer, kinder look came from to begin with. It certainly wasn't genetics.

"Hey Mrs. Argent," Charlie said politely, coming to a stop at the base of the stairs. "We're about to head out. Thanks so much for having us."

"Oh, not at all," Mrs. Argent said, smiling widely. Charlie didn't like the smile. The teeth were just too…pointy? White? She didn't know why, but she just didn't like it. But despite how off-putting it was, Charlie simply smiled in response. "Is Mr. Argent here?" she asked, glancing over Mrs. Argent's shoulder. "I just figured we should thank him as well before leaving."

Mrs. Argent continued to smile and cocked her head to the side oddly. "That's very sweet of you, but he's actually gone out on some errands. I'll tell him you said goodbye, though."

Charlie nodded and tapped her fist on the railing before moving towards the door, immediately followed by Lydia. "Oh, girls," Mrs. Argent called out just as they were about to walk out the door. "Sorry for ruining your evening. But better safe than sorry."

"Oh, that's no problem at all," Lydia replied slyly.

Charlie let out a forced laugh and closed the door behind them before glowering at Lydia. "That wasn't very subtle."

"Oh, Charlie," Lydia sighed out, reaching up and rearranging Charlie's hair. "Since when have I ever been accused of being subtle?"

Rolling her eyes heavily, Charlie spun on her heels and marched towards where their cars were parked. Lydia had to run carefully after, hampered by the heels she always insisted on wearing. Charlie silently smirked to herself. Apparently sneakers were good for something. As they arrived at the cars, Charlie turned back to the house. "It's safe to come out now," she whispered loudly. After a few moments and some rustling bushes, Allison appeared from the foliage.

"Oh my God," Lydia grumbled. She stepped forwards and plucked a leaf from Allison's hair, waving it in front of both Allison's and Charlie's faces before sighing heavily. "What am I going to do with you two?"

Charlie scoffed loudly and raised her eyebrows at the redhead. "How about you sit back and appreciate our awesomeness?"

"If she can handle it, that is," Allison tacked on. "There is a lot of awesomeness to be appreciated."

Lydia let out a sarcastic laugh. "Cute. Now Allison, get in the car. We don't want to be late."

Charlie wandered over to her car while Allison and Lydia piled into her gleaming Beetle. "Last chance, Oswin!" Lydia called out as her car engine revved to life. "If you want in, you better say so now."

"Couldn't even if I wanted to," Charlie replied with an apologetic shrug. "I promised Mel I'd do some errands. All that's left in out kitchen is Saltines and pickles. I've got to go to the grocery store and it is—" she checked her watch "—it's already almost 8:00."

"Okay, then," Allison said with a disappointed wave. "I guess I'll see you later."

Charlie waved the two other girls off before climbing into her own car. After that, Charlie's Friday night could only be described as lame. Actually, no. Lame was a euphemism for what her night was. Typically pushing a grocery cart around the local grocery store was an activity reserved for those people old enough to have graduated from college, but here she was contemplating a box of Cheerios. Charlie pursed her lips and considered it for a moment before plunking it back on the shelves and grabbing the Coco Puffs instead. When it came to breakfast cereal—and pretty much everything else in life—maturity was overrated. But that was particularly true with the cereal. Anything that says 'contains your daily dose of fiber' as a selling point on the box is not worth eating in the first place.

After the rounds at the grocery store were finished, Charlie through the bags into the trunk of her car. She climbed into the driver's seat and turned the engine on. When she did, the little needle on the fuel gauge barely increased and the light behind the little on the 'E' on the dashboard flickered to light. Shit. She was getting really terrible mileage, but then again that was the curse of classic cars. Low mileage and constant upkeep. She racked her brain, trying to remember the nearest gas station.

The trip to the gas station was typical enough, but just as she was about to pull up to one of the pumps, Charlie saw something that made her slam the breaks. Putting the car into park along the side of the gas station store, Charlie turned off the engine and lights, crouching down so that she was out of view, but peeking over the dash. It was probably an unnecessary degree of stealth, but the scene she saw unfolding in front of her called for some wariness.

A new-looking black Camaro was parked at one of the pumps with a guy in a leather jacket filling up the tank. That in and of itself was normal enough, but he had been blocked in by two SUVs, one red and one silver, and was surrounded by three other guys all of whom looked fairly threatening in their demeanor. One of them, a tall blonde man—she could only see the back of his head—seemed to be talking. She reached over the lever on the car door and rolled the window down, pricking her ears. No luck. She was too far away and most of the action was blocked by the giant gas pumps. Through the gaps she saw the blonde man reach over and grabbed one of the squeegees, cleaning off the windshield of the Camaro. A few moments later the blonde man headed back for the red SUV and one of the other ones—who had mousy brown hair—stepped forward so that he was hidden behind the pump. But then Charlie did hear something. The sound of shattering glass.

"Holy shit!" she hissed, sliding lower in her seat. She stayed ducked down until she heard the sound of car doors closing, engines coming to life, and the squeak of wheels against pavement. After poking her head back up over the dash and seeing that the SUVs had gone, she clambered out, shoving her hands in the pockets of her black jacket and marching over to the Camaro. She let out a small squeak of surprise when she saw Derek Hale on the other side, leaning on the hood of the car and staring at a very broken window. At the sound of that squeak, his head snapped in her direction and he fixed her with that weirdly intense stare of him.

"What do you think you're looking at?" he snapped at her.

Charlie instinctively bristled at the hostility and removed her hands from her pockets, instead folding them across her chest. "Well preliminary evidence suggests I'm looking at vandalism," she replied, jutting her chin out to indicate at the window. Derek just looked away from her and turned back to survey the damage. "Do you need some help with that?"

"Do I know you?" Derek growled, not bothering to look at her.

"Um, yeah," Charlie replied sarcastically. "I mean you're the one who came up to me at that party a few weeks back. 'You're friends with Scott.' Ringing any bells?" Derek just stared back evenly, making Charlie exhale sharply in frustration. "Okay, then. Well seeing as I already know you're name I figure I should tell you mine. I'm Charlie Oswin." She stuck out her hand in his direction, but he just stared at it as if it were diseased, so she withdrew it after a few moments. "So who did this to your car?"

"Don't know," Derek bit out, clearly getting more frustrated with by the second. "Didn't get a good look."

"How did you not get a good look?" Charlie demanded, eyeing him suspiciously. "They were literally right in front of you."

Derek's jaw twitched slightly as he continued to glower at her. "I'm farsighted."

Any mounting frustration of Derek's was equally matched by that building inside of her at the moment. "Do you have any other facial expressions or is it just the one? I mean, did you have some horrific Botox accident where you can no longer exhibit human emotion? Because honestly you seem a little young for that kind of thing."

Derek sighed heavily and pushed himself up from the hood of the car, turning to face Charlie and crossing his arms, matching her own posture. "What do you want?"

"A pony," she replied in a trite tone. "But since I live in a two story house in the middle of suburbia that's not likely, so I'll settle for some answers."

"Answers to what."

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him. "What the hell is your deal?"

"That's not much of a question."

"And that's not any kind of answer."

The two of them continued to stare at each other silently for a moment, and then Charlie had an idea. She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. "Say _queso_," she quipped, snapping a photo of him with flash on. Sure enough, the resulting photo had that same weird laser look around the eyes. "There," she said, holding up the photo for him to look at. "Explain that."

Derek's eyes flicked to the photo and then back to her. "I was never very photogenic."

Charlie groaned and ran a hand through her hair, pulling at it slightly. For some reason the stinging of her scalp allowed for a small release of her frustrations. "Son of a bitch," she muttered to herself. "You're worse than those two."

"What two," Derek said suddenly. Maybe a bit too suddenly, making her eye him carefully.

"Scott and Stiles," Charlie said slowly. She paused for a moment to gauge his reaction. "You know they said that you're dangerous—that I should avoid you."

Derek jutted out his chin slightly and nodded. "They sound like smart kids."

An involuntary snort forced its way out of Charlie's nose. "That's debatable."

Then something strange happened. The corners of Derek's mouth twitched slightly, like they were trying to form something slightly resembling a smile. But it faded just as soon as they appeared. "You might want to listen to them. People around me tend to get hurt."

"Okay, now you're just quoting 'Twilight'," Charlie said through a scoff. "Or at least I think you are. I've never read the books or seen the movies, but I think it sounds like something pasty Cedric Diggory would say."

"Edward?"

"Oh, so you've seen it then?"

Cue more angry stares. And then without another word Derek got into his car, revved the engine a few times, and sped out of the gas station, peeling some rubber and definitely violating the speed limit. Charlie scoffed and waved at the car's wake. "Bye then." It wasn't till then that her anger subsided and then she realized that goading the potentially homicidal Abercrombie and Fitch model might not have been the best of ideas.

Charlie stared down at the remnants of broken glass lying on the ground in front of her. Swearing loudly, she kicked at it, sending it skittering across the asphalt. Again with the weirdness. So there was somebody harassing Derek now. Violently. And he seemed pretty unfazed by it. In fact, it kind of seemed like he expected it. The fact that he was so tight-lipped about it, so unwilling to go to the authorities, suggested that whoever it was that maimed his car had something on him, or he was too afraid to go to the cops. Maybe it wasn't just Stiles and Scott that thought he killed his sister. Maybe someone else knew what was behind all the weird shit that was going on. Maybe, maybe, maybe. She was so sick of the freaking maybes. But they were everywhere, and showed no sign of going away any time soon. Well, she had learned one thing. 'Grumpy Cat' was definitely Derek's spirit animal. That and the fact that there was another player on the board—those guys in the SUVs—that she knew nothing about. Maybe if she had snuck closer she could have gotten a better look. But she could have also gotten a piece of rebar to the face.

The encounter with Derek left Charlie with a feeling of restlessness. She came home to an empty house and packed away the groceries. She opened up the ice cream to dig into it, but it had melted into an almost-soup. Then she wandered around the house a bit, moving from room to room with no sense of purpose whatsoever. Mel wasn't going to be back till at least 10:00, probably later, so for now it was just her. A year ago she would have loved having the house to herself for a couple of hours. She would pull a 'Risky Business' and dance around in sock feet wearing sunglasses and a button down, often singing into a hair brush and making a total idiot out of herself. Back then, an empty house had potential. Now an empty house was just…..empty.

She went to the bathroom and splashed some water on her face, washing off the makeup on her face and preparing herself for a night in. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun, strands of it falling out every which-way.

Sighing heavily, she looked at her watch. It was 8:50 p.m. and she felt like she was crawling out of her own skin. Mel had called and said she wouldn't be able to leave till after midnight. Freaking inventory. But apparently those were the hours you had to work when running your own boutique while simultaneously designing and constructing a quarter of the merchandise you sell.

"Screw it," Charlie mumbled to herself. She marched into the front foyer and grabbed her keys from the bowl on the table next to the front door. Practically storming out the house—not that she was storming away from anything—she got back into her car and drove into the dark, soon enough pulling into the parking lot of that local video rental place.

Video rentals. It was where you went on a Friday night when you had nothing else to do. It was an interesting cross-section of people. Some of them were couples too tired or too much in a rut to go out and do anything exciting. Some of them were desperate housewives eager to watch a cheesy romance flick while killing a bottle of Chardonnay. Then there were the stoners, eager to watch a mindless comedy or action film between hits off their bong and snack runs. And then finally there were people like her. The odd numbered wheels who were by default excluded from their friends' weekend activities.

Charlie wound her way up and down the aisles, chewing absently on her fingernails and trying to decide what film to watch. Slowly she found herself gravitating towards the section labeled 'Horror'. It was really difficult to find a good horror film lately. These days they seemed mostly to be busty coeds participating in wet T-shirt competitions, only the filmmakers used fake blood instead of water. There really was no more integrity in the genre. 'My Bloody Valentine'? Please.

Scanning the titles available, one in particular caught her attention. 'The Night of the Living Dead'. Charlie came to a stop in front of where it lay on the shelves and stared at it for a few moments, pursing her lips in contemplation. Oh, well. It was as good as she was going to get. She snatched it from the shelves and moved towards the checkout line, pausing in front of the massive piles of candy they always seem to keep near the front of video rental places. She wasn't sure how long she stood there—she had a pretty tough decision to make between the Reese's and the Snickers—but after an untold amount of time someone else appeared in line next to her.

Out of the corner of her eye Charlie could see that the person in question had incredibly close-cropped hair and was tapping his hands his fingers almost pathologically against the rectangular plastic box in his hands. Charlie squeezed her eyes shut and groaned loudly, slamming her forehead against the glass surface of the cooler holding all the sodas. That person was not who she wanted to see at that particular moment. But apparently closing her eyes did not mean that that person couldn't see her.

"Hey, Charlie," Stiles's voice rang out in that oddly high-pitched tone it seemed to reach when he was surprised about something.

Charlie cracked an eye and looked over at him. He was leaning against the shelves of candy kind of awkwardly and the smile on his face looked almost pained. "Hey, Stiles," she replied with very little enthusiasm.

Stiles faltered slightly, but she raised her eyebrows expectantly, prompting him to continue. "So I meant to tell you something at school earlier," he said, making a strange face at her. "But you seemed to be kind of busy."

"I wasn't busy," she replied simply, making him blink in surprise. "I was kind of actively ignoring you."

Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times in a stunned silence before running a hand down his face. "Why, uh, why would you go and do something like that? Avoid me, I mean. In such an active capacity."

Charlie sighed heavily and straightened to her full height before turning to face him. "Because, Stiles," she replied bluntly, "annoyingly evasive behavior has a tendency to piss me off. Last night you and Scott were annoyingly evasive and I'm a little bit petty, so—"

"But that's what I was going to talk to you about!" Stiles interrupted, gesturing at her wildly.

Charlie raised a single eyebrow at him. "Really?"

"Yes!"

"So you were going to tell me about Derek?" Charlie asked, crossing her arms and leaning a shoulder against the drink machine.

Whatever strange gesture Stiles was in the middle of making he kind of froze, letting his arms drop to his sides before coughing lightly and scratching at the back. "Well, no, but—"

"Then what?" she bit back, shrugging her shoulders in a way that could only be described as hostile.

"I was, uh, I was going to apologize," he mumbled. "For all of the annoying evasiveness."

"So you can apologize for the evasiveness, but you can't stop being evasive," Charlie said, rolling her eyes.

Stiles groaned and threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Kind of, yeah!"

Biting down hard on her lip, Charlie narrowed her eyes at Stiles. He was beginning to get a little frustrated himself now, and it was becoming abundantly clear that he didn't enjoy all the secret-keeping. And the fact that he kept those secrets in spite of hating them meant he wasn't likely to share all that soon. But it also meant he regretted not being able to open up more, and that was something at least,

"Fine," Charlie mumbled, scratching absently at her forehead. "It seems we've reached an impasse. And this whole—" she gestured between them "—this whole 'conflict thing' is a lot more effort that I'm willing to give. We've got another chemistry test next week and that's taking up enough of my energy as it is seeing as Harris is such a jackass. I'm not saying I'm not still pissed, but let's just skip it."

Stiles blinked in surprise and then nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, definitely. Let's do that." He threw his hands in the air in some odd gesture of success. Charlie looked at him skeptically and he dropped them again, instead planting them on her hips. "So what are you doing here?" he asked, jutting his head forward and shooting her an inquisitive look.

"Um, I'm renting a video," Charlie drawled out slowly. "That is the defined purpose of a video rental store, isn't it?"

"Well most people use DVDs these days," Stiles muttered. Charlie shot him a withering glare that seemed to make him reconsider. "Right, that wasn't very funny. I just thought that you'd be off doing the things 'cool' people do on the weekends."

"I'm 'cool'?" Charlie asked stupidly. "Well that's a new feeling, I guess." It was Stiles's turn to narrow his eyes at her suspiciously, making her roll her own in response. "There's no 'cool' things to be done if there's nobody to do them with. And all of my fellow so-called 'cool' people are currently paired up and bowling."

"Yeah," Stiles sighed out. "The whole 'pairing off' aspect of relationships tends to ruin everything for everybody else."

"Insensitive bastards," Charlie muttered under her breath. "There should totally have a support group for this kind of stuff. They could call it 'odd-wheels anonymous' and hold the meeting Friday nights in the basement of this place."

Stiles snorted slightly and nodded. "So—so what were you planning on watching then?" he asked, gesturing at her. Charlie cringed a bit as she pulled the DVD box from where it remained, neatly tucked under her arm. When she held it up, an expression of surprise crossed Stiles's face. "Why are you watching 'The Night of the Living Dead'?"

At that, Charlie's face morphed so that guilt was written across every line. "I've actually never seen it before."

The look of shock on Stiles's face didn't last to long before he positively exploded. "WHAT?! How can you argue which zombie movie is the best zombie movie, when you haven't actually seen the movie which is, without a doubt, the best zombie movie of all time?"

"I'm a naturally argumentative person!" Charlie grumbled back. "Does this actually surprise you?"

Stiles opened his mouth, ready to contradict her, but seemed to think better of it. "No, not really." He paused for a moment and stared at the floor, but his eyes flicked to her several times. "I actually own that movie in the super-digitally-remastered version," he said hesitantly. "It's the only version you really want to watch. You could—you could come see it if you want. Save yourself like seven bucks. I mean, if you want."

Charlie looked at him carefully. Stiles suddenly got very twitchy and nervous, kind of regretting what he had just suggested. Charlie snorted to herself and smiled slightly. "Okay, sure," she said, nodding in his direction. "I don't have anything better to do."

"Really?" Stiles asked, blinking stupidly.

"Yeah," Charlie said curtly, shrugging her shoulders. "Why not?"

"O—okay, then," Stiles replied, nodding enthusiastically. "So this means you're not pissed at me anymore right."

"Nope," Charlie responded, popping the 'p'. "I'm still pissed. But there's one thing I hate more that annoying evasiveness, and that's boredom."

"Alright," Stiles said, continuing to nod eagerly. "I'll take it." But then immediately after he said those words, a pained expression crossed his face—like he was afraid to be judged or something.

After a bit more awkward negotiating, Charlie ended up following Stiles's Jeep back to his house in her Impala. A few times she found herself wondering whether or not it was a good idea. Quite frankly, Stiles didn't seem as if he had had all that many interactions with girls while on his own. He was fine—or at least moderately okay—in open, public places with other people around, but on his own….not so much. If that was in fact the case, then the situation with Lydia was even more hopeless than she had originally supposed. Oh, well. Maybe low-stakes girls-only interactions like this one would serve to mitigate his nervousness in future scenarios. She hoped to God that the words 'we have a connection' would never be uttered again.

When the two of them finally stopped in front of what was apparently his house, they both climbed out of their cars. "Okay," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets as they walked towards the front door. "This is it. Home sweet home—where the magic happens. No scratch that, no magic just regular stuff. Washing dishes, homework, sleeping…."

"It's nice," Charlie said genuinely, cutting off his insecure rant. Stiles looked at her in surprise, making her roll her eyes. "Dude, I started living in Lydia's fancypants subdivision like two and a half months ago. Before that I lived with a single dad too. I cleaned out his office once and found black mold in the trash can because he forgot that he threw an apple core in it. Trust me, nothing will surprise me."

Stiles laughed and scratched at the back of his neck nervously. "Well there's no black mold," he mumbled. "So I guess you'll be reasonably impressed then."

The inside of the house was actually quite nice. The styling was a little dated—the wall paper was kind of bland and the fixtures looked like they were about a decade old, but it was a nice house. Though looking around she could tell it didn't really have a woman's touch, or hadn't for quite some time. She wasn't sure when Stiles's mom had died, but it hadn't been recently.

"So, yeah," Stiles mumbled, waving around at the surroundings. "This is home." Charlie smiled and nodded, and then Stiles held up a finger indicating for her to follow him as he headed towards a different room. The two of them ended up in the doorway to the kitchen. Charlie glanced around, taking it all in. It was clearly a man's room given the fact that there was a preserved fish hung up on one of the wall, and if that idea was in question it was confirmed by the fact that Stiles's father—Sheriff Stilinski—was sitting at the kitchen table, which was completely covered in files. Charlie squinted at them, trying to make out the text, but they were too far away.

"Hey, dad," Stiles drawled out, giving a long wave. Sheriff Stilinski looked up from his work and blinked in surprise at the sight of Charlie standing in the doorway. Stiles cleared his throat loudly before gesturing at her. "This is Charlie."

"Yes, we've met," he said carefully, inclining his head in Charlie's direction. "Nice to see you again, Charlie." Charlie responded with a wave of her hand, but Sheriff Stilinski turned back to Stiles. "Why is she here?"

"Ah," Stiles said, planting his hands on his hips and nodding. "Well, you see, the thing is that Charlie's never seen 'The Night of the Living Dead' before. I happened to mention that I had it and she wanted to see it, so….."

Stiles's dad looked back and forth between the two of them with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. "Is there anything I have to be worried about here? Anything I should be monitoring with that special degree of attention parents need sometimes."

"Dad!" Stiles hissed, flushing red a bit.

"No," Charlie responded immediately. Stiles's head snapped around to look at her, and he appeared slightly….offended? "What?" Charlie demanded, folding her arms across her chest defensively.

Stiles scoffed loudly and shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing. I mean, you could have pretended to think about it for like half a second before totally writing me off."

Charlie groaned loudly and rolled her eyes. "Come on, Stiles. Not only do we barely know each other, but you're in love with one of my closest friends here."

"Charlie!" Stiles hissed, glancing at his father.

"Are you talking about Lydia Martin?" Sheriff Stilinski inquired, raising his eyebrows.

Charlie nodded in confirmation while Stiles hissed at his dad to shut up for a bit. "There's really nothing you have to worry about, Sheriff Stilinski," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "If he tries anything, I'll put him in a thumb-lock."

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows and looked at her in confusion. "What's a—WAAA-UH!"

Wordlessly, Charlie grabbed Stiles's thumb and twisted it behind his back just like she had Aaron Harrison, leaving Stiles leaning over at the waist, whimpering slightly, and looking very confused. Sheriff Stilinski blinked at her in surprise before chuckling slightly. "I like you," he said, pointing at her, a slight smile creeping across his face.

"Well that's great!" Stiles whined loudly. "This is a great bonding moment for the two of you. Now are you going to let me go or what?" Charlie snorted slightly before letting go of Stiles's thumb. He quickly wrenched his hand away from Charlie and glowered at her, rubbing at the joint where his thumb met his hand. "So," he continued, rounding on his dad, "can we watch the movie or are you going to continue scarring me during my formative years?"

Sheriff Stilinski just waved the two of them off before returning to the mountains of paper work. This signal could only be interpreted as a yes, because Stiles shot him not one but two thumbs-up before scurrying upstairs to what was presumably his room, leaving Charlie alone with his dad. Charlie just smiled and nodded at the sheriff awkwardly before hearing the loud thunking noise of Stiles running down the stairs.

"Okay, then," Stiles said, holding up the movie and smiling with a freakish degree of excitement. "Let's get this thing started."

Charlie followed Stiles into the living room and plopped down on the couch while he made a beeline to the DVD player. "You're not going to regret seeing this," he said excitedly, glancing over his shoulder. "It totally revolutionized the genre."

"Stop selling it Stiles," Charlie groaned. "You run the risk of over-selling it. You'd rather me expect less and be pleasantly surprised than expect too much and be disappointed right?"

Stiles's mouth hung open and he stared absently into space, considering her words. "Good point," he said, popping the DVD into the player. He scrambled back to the couch and crossed his legs, drumming his fingers against his shin. "Prepare to be amazed."

"How about you stop preparing me for being amazed and let me be amazed?" Charlie quipped back. "How about that?"

"Fair enough."

Charlie actually really enjoyed the movie. It was horror in its early stages and gore in its purest form, before it had gotten watered down by the excessive use of all that CGI crap. Her eyes were glued to the screen, excepting of course those times when Stiles poked her in the shoulder and told her it was his favorite part. Which was not infrequent. They had just gotten to the bit where Harry—the asshole—locked Ben out of the house when the sound of Sheriff Stilinski's cell phone went off.

Without any explanation, Stiles scrambled for the remote and paused the film. He craned his neck in the direction of the kitchen, leaning over Charlie to hear what his dad was saying. Charlie tried to ask him what he was doing but he quickly shushed her.

"He's dead?" Sheriff Stilinski said into his phone. "I thought he was in recovery."

Pause.

"No," he continued, exhaustion creeping into his voice. "No, I'll be there. Just give me twenty minutes."

The sound of footsteps echoed in their ears and Stiles quickly grabbed the remote again, turning the film back on. Then he arranged himself into an impossibly casual position, staring intently at the screen before his dad walked into the room. After a few moments Sheriff Stilinski appeared in the door frame, dragging his feet and rubbing at his eyes. "That was the hospital," he sighed out. "The bus driver, he….succumbed to his wounds. I'm going to have to head down there. I'm not sure when I'll be back."

"Shit," Charlie swore under her breath. Then she realized who she was talking to and winced slightly. "Sorry."

"No," Sheriff Stilinski said, waving his hand absently. "'Shit' seems like a fairly accurate assessment." He put his hands on his hips and looked between the two teenagers on his couch. The both of them stared back blankly, as teenagers often did. "Okay," he continued in a tired voice. "The two of you behave yourselves. Charlie, you think you can get home okay?" She nodded. "Good. I guess I'll head out then. You guys get in trouble, I will find out about it."

Stiles clapped his hands on his knees loudly and nodded. "Noted."

Sheriff Stilinski turned away from them and walked towards the door. All the while Stiles practically stood up in his seat, his eyes following his dad as he left. As soon as the front door closed, he hopped out of his seat and went straight towards the window, pressing his face against the glass and watching his dad's car pull out of the drive way. It wasn't till the car disappeared and he turned back around that he seemed to register that Charlie was still there. "Ah," he said, wincing and pointing at Charlie. "You're—"

"Leaving," Charlie filled in, planting her hands on the sofa next to her and pushing herself to her feet.

Stiles shot her an apologetic look and shook his head. "That's not—you don't have to—"

"You're going to go fill Scott in, right?" Charlie deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at him. Stiles blinked at her in surprise, making her roll his eyes. "As sneaky as the two of you are, you're really freaking obvious about it." Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "It's fine," she said, moving towards the DVD player, "but I'm taking the movie. It's reasonably awesome and I'm finishing it."

""S—sure," Stiles said, planting his hands on his hips and nodding. She nodded in response before grabbing the movie and her purse and heading towards the door. "Wait," he continued, calling after her. "I'll be getting it back, right?"

She paused slightly at the door and smirked back at him. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On how much I like the movie." She wrenched the door open and jogged down to her car. She opened the driver's side door and was about to slide in, but Stiles's voice stopped her.

"Hey, Charlie?" he called out from his spot at the front door. "I'm sorry."

Charlie let out a loud scoff and scratched at her forehead. "Yeah, Stiles," she said in a tired voice. "I know."

And with that she clambered into her car and drove home. As per usual, she had a few more answers, and a hell of a lot more questions.

**Lots happening in this chapter! Hope it wasn't too jumpy. At first I was wondering how the hell to incorporate Stiles, and then it just hit me. I thought it was awesome, hopefully you did too.**

**One of the 'Guests' asked about Charlie's mom. I just wanted to say that she will be incorporated more into the story. It might be a while before she is, though.**

**Reviews are love. I am not ashamed to admit that external validation is one of my major driving forces, and reviews make me oh-so happy. I was running out of quips about hungry muses, so I figured I'd just write that.**

**SIDE NOTE: Two major milestones for me! Over 50 favorites and over 100 reviews! You guys spoil me so much, and I love you for it!  
**


	11. Falling On the Grenade

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to LifeIsARayOfSunshine, xXbriannaXx, LoTS-Fanatic, TameTheGhosts, LynZann, cat-afterlife, VeeWillRockYou, ScornedxRose, Plague's Vengeance, Micaela M, alvirgil, SuperSMA, easythrowaway, Guest, Laura, and Vee for reviewing. And the awesome BrittWitt16 of course.**

**Also, sorry for all the grammar mistakes last time. I'm really shit a editing my own stuff (I'm great at editing other people's but my own…not so much). I can virtually guarantee that there are mistakes here too, but hopefully fewer of them.**

Chapter 11 – Falling On the Grenade

Well this was going to suck. And not just the regular, mildly irritating kind—this was going to be an epic degree of suckage.

Charlie had been dreading this dinner ever since Mr. Argent had suggested it to Mel when they met at the lacrosse game. Right from the beginning it had sounded like a terrible idea. Then nothing came from it. One week passed and then two—Charlie was beginning to think she was off the hook for that disastrous dinner party. Then, Monday evening, Aunt Mel had gotten a call from Mrs. Argent apologizing for the lateness of the invitation—they were preparing for a visit from Allison's aunt Kate—and asking them both over to dinner. Charlie had paled when she heard Mel making the plan, and the gnawing feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach only grew when she noticed Mel's excitement over the whole thing. All week she had been trying to think of a way to get out of it—she had even forgotten to be pissed at Stiles and Scott for their behavior—but she hadn't been able to think of a single solitary viable reason to bail.

And so there she was, climbing out of Mel's Prius and moving down the walkway to Allison's door like she was walking the freaking plank. Or stepping in front of a firing squad. Or going to the dentist's office. Man, she really needed to get a handle on her metaphors. They were really getting out of control.

Wrinkling her nose slightly, Charlie pulled at the fabric of the dress she was wearing and then at the tights that were currently encasing her legs. Mel had picked it out for the occasion—it was blue with a floral print and a pseudo-fifties vintage vibe to it, complete with tights and high-heeled shoes. It was cute and entirely appropriate for the occasion. The problem was that Charlie didn't generally like feeling 'cute' or 'girly'. It kind of put her off her game, made her feel like she was wearing someone else's skin instead of her own. She leaned over to Mel as the two of them approached the door. "There's still time to avoid all this mess," she hissed under her breath. "We could tell them I have the stomach flu. Or explosive diarrhea. Nobody ever questions gastro-intestinal problems. They get too uncomfortable discussing them."

"Charlie, where is your sense of gratitude," Mel chided, smacking her in the arm. "The Argents were kind enough to invite us over for dinner. The least you can do is enjoy it."

Huffing loudly, Charlie picked up her pace to keep up with Mel, trying not to wobble so much in the Mary Jane's that had been given to her. "I hope you know this is going to end in disaster," she mumbled under her breath. "The Argents don't really like me. At all. I mean, Allison does and I don't know about her aunt Kate, but I get the distinct feeling that her parents—"

"And whose fault is that?" Mel retorted, raising a perfectly groomed blonde eyebrow and shooting a scolding expression in Charlie's direction. "You weren't exactly polite to him at the lacrosse game if I remember correctly."

Charlie scoffed loudly and kicked at some of the plants lining the walkway. "Sorry for assuming he had at least a little bit of a sense of humor," she grumbled bitterly. "It was a case of poor judgment."

Mel smacked her on the shoulder again. "That's the exact type of behavior that gets you in trouble to begin with. Now I recognize that it's just how you act and that you don't mean any offense by it—you have the same sick sense of humor as your father did—but for people who don't know you that well, you can come off as—"

"A bitch?" Charlie supplied.

"No!" Mel replied, sounding scandalized. "No, you just come off as disrespectful. Listen, I have a one-step plan to make the Argents like you. Be polite. Don't say anything inappropriate. Think before you speak. That's all there is to it. And then they'll see you for the kind, clever, generous girl that you are. Once you chip away at the prickly exterior, that is."

Charlie frowned slightly as they came to a stop at the front door. Mel raised her hand to knock, but Charlie stopped her. "Hold on a second. So you're telling me to put up a front so that they can see what I'm like once I take the initial front down? Because that's not confusing at all. I think you just Inception-ed my personality."

"Well it's what you need to do," Mel said definitively. "Sometimes to make a good impression, you have to put up an act so that people are willing to get to know you and understand you better."

"Okay, fine," Charlie sighed out in agreement. "But just so you know, I'm not as layered as you seem to think. Take my snark at face value." Rolling her eyes at Charlie, Mel lifted her fist and rapped three delicate and yet resounding knocks against the front door. Charlie could hear muffled voices inside, one of which was growing louder as whoever it was approached the front door. Charlie glanced up at the cloudless sky and said a silent prayer to every deity she had ever heard of that this dinner would go smoothly and end quickly. Then, as she lowered her yes back to earth, they happened to slide by the window open to the garage. All of the sudden her eyes froze on something on the opposite side of the glass. The window was small so she couldn't be sure, but she was pretty sure she was looking at a red SUV. The possible realization felt kind of like a kick to the stomach. "What the—"

"Hello!" a bright, enthusiastic voice said from the doorway. Charlie's head snapped back around, her jaw still hanging open slightly her eyes fell on a cheerful Mrs. Argent standing in the doorway. She quickly snapped it shut and flashed what she hoped was a polite, winning smile. Mrs. Argent opened the door wider to invite them in. "It's so nice to finally meet you," she said, holding her hand out to Mel. "I'm Victoria Argent. We spoke on the phone."

"Melody Oswin," Mel replied with a warm smile before taking the offered hand. "Thank you so much for inviting us."

"Not at all, Mrs. Argent said, stepping out of the doorway and gestured for them to come in. "I'm just sorry it took us so long to get around to it. We've just been so busy with setting up Kate's room and moving in to the house that we haven't had the opportunity to properly entertain."

Mel entered the house immediately, but Charlie hesitated for a moment at the threshold, a feeling of discomfort settling in the pit of her stomach.

"You have a lovely home," Mel said as she walked through the entryway, glancing at all of the furnishings. "I would never have guessed that you just moved in. This place looks like a photo spread from 'Better Homes and Gardens'."

Mrs. Argent flashed another frighteningly good-natured smile over her shoulder as she led them through the house. "That's really too kind of you," she said happily. "We still have a bit of work to do on the upstairs—Allison always takes a long time to get settled. And I'm afraid that we might be a little cramped for dinner. We've added another unexpected guest and I have to put out one more place setting."

"Oh, let me help you," Mel said politely. The two of them made their way to the kitchen while Charlie was left looking for the rest of their little party. She found them soon enough, but she immediately wondered if she wanted to.

Charlie froze in the doorway of the living room where the rest of their little crew was sitting. She hadn't thought that this ordeal could get any more uncomfortable for her, but the universe seemed to have a way of making things work out for the worse. Sitting on the couch opposite her was Allison _and_ Scott. She knew that the two of them were supposed to have a 'study' date—yes, quotation marks were necessary—but that should have ended over an hour ago. That and the fact that they both looked incredibly nervous and more than a little bit mortified, holding hands and staring intently at the floor, indicated that something had gone horrifically wrong. And it didn't take much for Charlie to guess what it was. Allison and Scott had been caught 'studying'. Not necessarily 'final exam' level of 'studying', but enough to make it uncomfortable for everybody involved. Shit, the metaphors were really out of control.

Mr. Argent was sitting in the armchair facing them, glaring at Scott like he was trying to incinerate him with the sheer force of his gaze. Next to him, sitting on the armrest, was a woman Charlie didn't recognize with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and green eyes. She was the only one who seemed to notice there entrance, and she looked Charlie up and down with an appraising expression. So this was Aunt Kate. Charlie tried to shove her hands in her pockets, only to be reminded that she didn't have any at the moment, and folded them across her chest instead.

"So, who's pregnant?" she asked in a loud, sarcastic tone. "Or am I reading the room wrong?" At that point everybody's head snapped in her direction. Allison and Scott both looked up with terrified expressions, but as soon as Allison saw it was Charlie standing there, it morphed into an expression of relief. Mr. Argent, as per usual, looked thoroughly un-amused. The only reaction that was moderately surprising was Kate's. Charlie had expected more of the Argent stoic stares, but instead Kate let out a loud snort of laughter.

"Charlie!" Allison breathed out happily, pushing herself out of the sofa. She took several long steps across the room and threw her arms around Charlie's neck, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Jeeze, Allison," Charlie muttered, patting the other girl awkwardly on the back. "It's only been like three hours. Keep it in your pants. Or at least buy me dinner first."

"I'm so glad you're here," she whispered quickly and quietly. "This is my nightmare. My dad—"

She was cut off by the sound of a woman clearing her throat. Allison twitched slightly before releasing Charlie and backing away. She cleared her throat and turned to face her aunt. "Allison?" Kate asked, raising an eyebrow at her. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend here?"

"Right," Allison said through an uncomfortable laugh. "Charlie, this is my Aunt Kate. Kate this is my friend Charlie."

Putting on a bemused smile, Charlie held out a hand, which Kate took and shook firmly. "Nice to meet you, Charlie," she chirped. Then she leaned in conspiratorially and gave Charlie a sly smile. "In case you were wondering about the heavy levels of awkward in the room and the sudden change in the headcount for dinner, Chris and I just caught these two lovebirds making out."

Allison groaned loudly and slapped a hand over her eyes, but it was Mr. Argent who spoke up. "Kate," he said with a tone of warning that sounded oddly similar to the one he used when talking to Allison, "do you really think it's appropriate to discuss these types of things?"

Kate scoffed loudly and rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Chris," she drawled out. "They're teenagers. Ten bucks says Charlie would have found out about Allison and Scott's little garage make out session inside of like ten minutes."

"The garage?" Charlie said, scrunching up her face slightly. "That kind of sounds like a recipe for tetanus."

After that little quip, Charlie found herself on the receiving end of an angry stare from Allison—which she replied to with an apologetic wince—but Kate busted out laughing. "Oh, man," she said walking over to Charlie and wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling the girl towards her. "I like this one, Allison. She's got spunk. I bet Chris hates her. Tell me, Charlie, has he called you insubordinate yet?" The complete silence of everybody in the room was confirmation enough. Eventually, Kate let go of Charlie and took a step, looking her up and down again. "Damn," she murmured. "Is there something in the water in Beacon Hills? All the teenage girls here look like runway models."

"I'm not sure how to respond to that without sounding like and egotistical ass," Charlie murmured, trying to shove her hands in the non-existent pockets again. She really wished she was wearing pants. Defensive, standoffish postures were a lot easier to maintain when you were wearing pants.

"I think that was the perfect response," Kate replied. "So, Charlie, do you have a little lost puppy of your own, or are the boys still knocking down your door?"

Charlie glanced back at Scott, who was flushing a bright red before turning back to Kate. "Um, neither."

"Oh, there's no way I believe that," Kate said raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"So, Aunt Kate," Allison interrupted, saving Charlie from that particular line of questioning, "are you dating anyone new?"

Kate tutted and wagged an admonishing finger at her niece. "Allison, you should know better than that. You never ask a woman on the other side of twenty-five about her love life unless you know it's going to be a positive answer."

"Alright," Mr. Argent interjected, standing up from his seat in the arm chair. "I think it's about time for dinner. Why don't we all go into the dining room? Allison, come help me set out the food"

Kate strolled out of the room, popping her hips slightly and oozing confidence as she walked. She was kind of the anti-Mel. Self-confidence and sarcasm instead of soft-spoken-ness and sincerity. Meanwhile, Mr. Argent wrapped a protective arm around Allison's shoulder and guided her out of the living room, but not before shooting a vaguely malicious over his shoulder at Scott. Shit. She was going to have a front-row seat for 'meet the family' night. It was not going to be pretty. "Hm," she murmured, moving so that she was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Scott. "It looks like he hates you even more than he hates me. And that's saying something."

"Is this how I die?" Scott asked, a look of fear crossing his face.

Charlie blew out a long breath and shrugged. "He does have a lot of guns."

"What do I do?" Scott muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Don't know, but I would advise that you don't make any sudden movements. And they do say that in a bear attack you should drop to the ground and curl into the fetal position."

Scott groaned and ran his hands down his face. "You're no help."

Charlie sighed and clapped a hand on Scott's shoulder and shook it a little bit. "Hang in there, buddy. This to will pass."

A few moments later Mel appeared in the doorway and summoned them to the table. If the conversation in the living room had seemed awkward, that awkwardness was magnified like a thousand times over by the seating arrangements at dinner. Scott and Allison were sitting together obviously, and Charlie was seated on Allison's other side. That bit was fine. Mel was sitting between Charlie and Mrs. Argent. That bit was fine too. It was even fine that Charlie was sitting opposite Kate. As much as she liked to generate uncomfortable situations for other people, Kate was entertaining and friendly enough. Sure there seemed to be a slightly malicious edge to her snarkiness, but it wasn't anything Charlie couldn't handle. In fact, she quite liked Kate. She was still wary of her, but she liked her. The awkwardness was largely stemming from the fact that Mr. Argent had seated himself directly opposite Scott, and was showing every intention of glaring at him for the entire meal. Charlie was even beginning to wonder if he had a gun under the table pointed directly at Scott's groin. Allison had said that he sold guns to law enforcement, so it wasn't totally outside the realm of possibility.

The dinnertime conversation started out bland enough. The Argents talked about the move, all of the adults talked about their respective jobs—boring adult stuff. Mel and Mrs. Argent had a lot to talk about since they were both involved in the fashion industry. Charlie wasn't called on to contribute all that much. Until Mrs. Argent asked one of the most innocuous questions in the world, and all hell broke loose. If hell was passive-aggressive.

"Charlie, Scott, would you like anything other than water?" she asked innocently.

"Nope," Charlie responded, shaking her head.

"No, I'm good," Scott said politely. "Thanks."

"Can I get you some beer?" Mr. Argent asked, looking pointedly at Scott. Mel's utensils clattered against her plate as she dropped them, looking at Mr. Argent in surprise and alarm.

'That's a trap," Charlie muttered out of the corner of her mouth. "Don't answer that."

Scott glanced at her but then his eyes were drawn back to Mr. Argent who had his eyebrows raised expectantly. "N—no thanks," he stammered out, unclear about what to do.

"Shot of tequila?" Mr. Argent continued, staring at Scott like he was a judge in a dog show or something.

"Dad!" Allison interjected, glaring at her father. "Really?"

"You don't drink, Scott?" Mr. Argent insisted, ignoring his daughter.

"N—no," he stuttered. "I'm not old enough to."

"That doesn't seem to stop many teenagers these days," Mrs. Argent tacked on.

"No," Scott said, drinking heavily from his glass of _water_, "but it should."

"Good answer," Kate interjected. The sly smile was audible in her voice and she was twirling her fork absently. "It was a total lie, but well played, Scott. You may yet survive the night."

"What about you, Charlie," Mr. Argent said, nodding at her. "Do you drink?"

All of the sudden the attention of the table shifted to her. Her eyes flickered to Mel who was looking increasingly uncomfortable in this conversation, pushing around her asparagus and staring intently at her plate. Oh, well. She was going to lean into the awkwardness. "Not a lot," Charlie replied casually, taking a bite of the asparagus on her plate. "I mean, I've had a drink or two at parties, but nothing major. By the way, Mrs. Argent, this asparagus is delicious. Is that a hollandaise sauce?"

"Dear God," Kate drawled out in mock amazement. She kicked at Charlie's shin under the table. "What is it that we have here? Is it the world's last honest teenager? Mel, you've got yourself a unicorn. Congratulations."

Charlie frowned slightly and continued poking at her food. "You make me sound like the subject of a wildlife documentary."

"And you are, sweetie," Kate said, reaching across the table to pat Charlie's hand. "You are in the best possible way."

Mel glanced self-consciously between the two Argent parents before shooting a small smile in Kate's direction. "Charlie and I have an understanding. I wasn't a teenager all that long ago and so I remember what it's like. So we agreed to keep it honest. Secrets never help anyone."

"Oh, I don't know about that….." Kate continued. She had the prongs of her fork caught between her teeth as she looked around the table. "Secrets can definitely be useful sometimes."

Those weird, cryptic words hung in the air for a moment. Until Mr. Argent decided he had another pressing concern. "Do you smoke pot?"

"Okay," Kate said through a loud snort, "changing the channel to something a little less conservative…So Scott, uh, Allison tells us you're on the lacrosse team?" He just smiled and nodded, grateful to be moving away from the interrogation portion of the meal. "I'm sorry, I don't know anything about that, how do you play?"

Scott cleared his throat and nodded. "Uh, um, well you know hockey?

Kate took a bite of food and nodded. "Mmh."

"It's a lot like that only, um, played on grass instead of ice."

Mr. Argent smacked his lips in contempt and waved his knife around to emphasize his point. "Hockey on grass….is called field hockey." Given the face Allison was trying to refrain from making, she was getting increasingly frustrated with her dad's consistent negativity.

"Oh, yeah," Scott said stupidly, making Charlie pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. She knew Scott wasn't actually stupid, but it sure as hell seemed like it sometimes. She shot him a sidelong glance to see how much he was sweating the interrogation and noticed that there was a phone sitting on his lap with the text box open. Okay, not stupid but distracted. And that led to the question distracted by what? That was always the question these days.

"So," Allison added on, "it's like field hockey except these sticks have nets."

"Exactly," Scott said, nodding.

"Can you slap-check like in hockey?" Kate asked.

"Y—yeah," Scott said, reaching for is water. "But it's only the gloves and the sticks."

"Sounds violent," Kate murmured, yet another smile creeping across her face. "I like it."

"Scott's amazing too," Allison gushed, leaning towards her aunt. "Dad came with me to the first game. Wasn't he was good?"

Mr. Argent just gave a noncommittal jerk of the head. "He was fine."

Charlie could practically hear Allison's teeth grinding. "He scored the last shot, the winning shot."

"True," Mr. Argent conceded, "but he didn't score at all until the last few minutes."

"Well that was because of Jackson," Charlie blurted out. All of the sudden everybody was looking at her and Mr. Argent appeared none too pleased at her stepping in. Mel shot her a questioning expression and gestured for her to continue. "Jackson Whittemore? The captain? He's got an ego the size of Texas and now that he's got a little competition….let's just say he fights dirty even if it's against his own teammates. He told the rest of the team not to pass to Scott so I'd say that kind of put him at a disadvantage."

"How did you know about that?" Scott asked, leaning forwards and shooting her a grateful look.

She pursed her lips and shrugged. "Well I've met Jackson, so….logic."

"I really was an incredible game," Mel interjected in that calming, appeasing tone of hers. "Beacon Hills was totally done for, and then in the last minute and a half Scott scored three goals. Didn't the last one rip straight through the goalie's net?"

Scott nodded simply, making Mr. Argent roll his eyes. "Yeah, well I think the goalie was playing with a damaged stick."

Allison slammed her drink down hard on the table. Charlie's eyes widened slightly and she looked over at Mel, who was staring at her with an equal degree of shock, and even a little bit of disdain. Disdain was not something Mel showed lightly, or at all really, but it was beginning to slip through. She was all that was polite and considerate in the world, so she didn't really know how to act in situations like this one what with the blatant hostility and all. Hell, Charlie was beginning to feel awkward, and she thrived on awkwardness—even encouraged it. But this….this was too much. One thing was for sure, they were both wishing that one or both of them had explosive diarrhea. Because that was definitely preferable to what was happening at that table.

From what her peripheral vision allowed her to see, Allison was about to snap. Her knee was bouncing up and down almost impossibly fast and her hands were tightening into tight fists. And then Scott reached over ad took her hand in his, and she seemed to unclench a bit. Scott turned to Mr. Argent, a cheeky smile on his face. "You know, on second thought, I think I'll take that shot of tequila."

There was a short moment of silence before Charlie snorted into her plate. It wasn't long before she was followed by Mel and Kate, and then surprisingly enough by Mr. and Mrs. Argent themselves. "You were kidding, right?"

"Yes, sir," Scott said, nodding eagerly.

"Well," Kate sighed out, banging her hands on the table. "That was intense." That seemed to diffuse the tension to a reasonable degree. After that the majority of the dinnertime conversation regained a degree of civility, sliding back into the typical topics. School, sports other than lacrosse, the state of the economy, bears, but then it veered back to topics that Charlie was not all that comfortable with. Namely herself.

After the conversation started drifting, Kate for some reason cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes at Charlie. It was a bit disconcerting, having the full force of Kate Argent's attention. Especially given the fact that—like all the Argents excepting Allison—there was the tiniest bit of crazy behind them. "So what's your deal?" Kate said, pointing at Charlie. "Allison hasn't told me all that much about you."

Charlie swallowed down the asparagus in her mouth and cleared her throat before shrugging. "There's not that much to say."

"Oh, come on," Kate drawled out, nudging her in the shin with the toe of her boot. "Hobbies? Interests? Extra-curricular activities?"

Charlie bit down on the inside of her cheek and shrugged again. "I don't know. I play guitar, I compose a little bit. Nothing good, but it's decent practice. I can quote 'Star Wars' with an unhealthy degree of accuracy. I eat more cheese and fried food than would probably be advisable. I took Krav Maga for like five or six years before—"

"Really?" Kate interrupted, suddenly looking at Charlie with something resembling respect. "You know Krav Maga?"

"Well I'm not an expert or anything, but yeah."

Kate smirked widely and nodded. "Nice. I like a girl that can kick a little ass."

"I don't know about that," Charlie replied, pushing the food around on her plate. "I'm definitely out of practice. Beacon Hills doesn't really have a lot of potential sparring partners and there are only so many times I can put Aaron Harrison in a thumb-lock before he learns to stop being creepy so—"

"Well, you've got one now," Kate interrupted. "I'd like to see what you can do with those tiny little fists of fury."

Charlie chewed slowly, narrowing her eyes at Kate. "Yeah," she said, nodding a bit. "Yeah, okay. But you better bring your A-game—" she pointed her fork at Kate "—I'm not taking it easy on you."

"Ooh," Kate said through a smirk. "We've got a live one."

"She's also really good at bowling," Scott blurted out suddenly. Charlie paused with a fork full of steak poised to be eaten and stared at Scott. Wasn't that supposed to be their little secret? She had helped him out with bowling and he would keep it to himself? She knew the girl code, but some of the clauses had footnotes in really tiny print that she couldn't quite make out. She felt a swooping feeling of anxiety, worrying that Allison might not be too happy about it. Scott shot a few glances at Allison, an embarrassed expression on his face, before continuing. "Charlie overheard me telling Stiles that I didn't know how to bowl, so she taught me—us—how. She's seriously good. She got like seven strikes in a row. It was awesome."

Allison turned her head away from Scott and smiled at Charlie. Phew. That little revelation really could have gone either way. "You taught him how to bowl?" she asked in a tone of appreciation.

"Sort of," she muttered, shrugging her shoulders. "He was nervous about…the outing and needed the help."

All of the sudden Scott twitched slightly, and Charlie noticed that once again his phone was set to the text function. And she was pretty sure she saw the name 'Stiles' across the top of the screen. Great. More weirdness courtesy of the wonder twins. "I, uh, I kind of need to use the restroom?" he mumbled, glancing between the members of the Argent family. "Where—"

"Down the hall and to the left," Mr. Argent said immediately, interrupting him.

Scott immediately jumped up and scurried down the hall like he was suffering from premature prostate problems, leaving the Oswin and Argent clans to their own devices.

"So you bowl?" Mr. Argent asked in a tone that for once wasn't colored by disapproval. "That's not a typical activity for teenage girls. I used to take Allison bowling, though."

"David—my brother, Charlie's dad—he was a big bowler," Mel supplied, smiling fondly to herself. "It was one of the only things he took seriously."

"Yeah," Charlie said, a smile creeping across her own face as well. "He definitely took the whole drinking beer and heckling grown men thing seriously."

"How did he die?" Kate asked abruptly. A slightly tense silence followed. The only sound was the ticking clock and clanking of utensils against the plates. "I mean, if you don't mind saying," Kate continued, looking at Mel apologetically.

"It's fine," Mel said quietly. She cleared her throat in that oddly musical way only she could and put her utensils down. She folded her hands in her lap before looking up at the table. "It was hemmhoragic stoke brought on by a saccular aneurysm in the frontal lobe of his brain," she said in a rehearsed-sounding voice.

"That's fancy doctor speak for his brain exploded," Charlie muttered under her breath.

"Charlie!" Mel hissed, giving her a pointed look. Charlie pressed her lips together in a thin line and nodded in apology. She tended to get a bit snippy when talking about her dad's death. Talking about the man himself was fine, but talking about how he died….that was something that tended to put her on edge. It didn't really bring back any good memories.

"And what about your mom?" Kate pressed on, looking between Charlie and Mel. Charlie felt her eyebrows pull together in a small frown. Kate Argent was definitely bold, which was something Charlie had no problem with, but she was also pushy. For some reason Charlie got the impression that she was being sized up—that Kate was trying to assemble all the information possible before she could make a decision. Charlie opened her mouth to respond, but Mel spoke first. "Charlie's mom isn't really…in the picture at all."

Kate's mouth formed a silent 'o' and seemed to be about to move on, but Charlie figured she might as well spill it all. They were probably going to be talking about it after she and Mel left anyway, and frankly she was more comfortable with just blurting it out than having the Argents speculate in their free time. "My mom's not dead or anything," Charlie sighed out. "She just wasn't ready to be a mom, and decided not to be. I think she ran off and joined the Peace Corps. It's always been just me and my dad. And Mel."

"That sounds like it was hard for you," Allison said softly, nudging Charlie with her elbow.

Charlie just pursed her lips and shrugged. "Not really. I mean, you can't miss what you never had, right? My dad was always more than enough. And so is Mel."

Mel flushed slightly and Charlie smiled at her. Mel was never very comfortable with praise. Yet another thing that made her the perfect specimen of a human being that she was.

"Well," Kate interjected, "Mel, I think that you're a rock star for stepping in like you are. I mean you're what, twenty-eight? I know if I got stuck with a teenager—even an adorably perfect one like Allison—I wouldn't have a clue what to do."

"Charlie makes it easy," Mel said quietly. "Sometimes I think that she looks after me more than I look after her."

"Well that's just not true," Charlie drawled out, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

"I just can't wrap my head around it," Kate muttered. "What it must be like getting that kind of phone call."

"Phone call?"

"You know," Kate prompted, shooting her a knowing look. "The phone call. The one you get when….." She trailed off letting their minds fill in the blanks. She was talking about the proverbial phone call you get when someone you love dies. Charlie felt her hand tighten around the fork she was holding. This conversation was getting dangerously close the things she did _not _talk about. She didn't talk about that day. She didn't want to go back to that day. It was a day that she refused to acknowledge in its entirety. "I didn't need to get a phone call," she bit out, trying to maintain a veneer of civility. "I'm the one who made the call."

Kate seemed to notice that she crossed a line because she immediately leaned back in her chair, in effect backing off of the topic. In fact, all of the Argents were looking a little bit uncomfortable. It was kind of refreshing, actually, having them be the ones who seemed to be on the defensive. But then there was Mel. Her eyes were glazed over, like she was staring intently on nothing at all. And Charlie knew why—she knew what Mel was thinking about. She was the one who had called Mel as the ambulance pulled out of her driveway that Saturday morning.

"Where is that adorable lost puppy of yours, Allison?" Kate broke in suddenly. She pushed back from the table and got to her feet. "I think I'll help him find his way back."

After a few minutes Kate and Scott both reappeared, just in time for desert. At that point the conversation made a hard detour away from anything family-related and other than a slightly disturbing anecdote by Mr. Argent about a rapid dog, it mostly dabbled in the normal. After the meal, the adults congregated in the kitchen, cleaning up as they talked and finished off their wine. Meanwhile, Allison was grabbing Scott's backpack from her room so he could get ready to go. For some reason he seemed eager to leave.

"I'm so incredibly sorry, you guys," Allison said, jogging down the stairs. She shoved Scott's bag into his waiting arms and gave them both an apologetic look.

Scott threw the bag over his shoulders and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "For what."

Allison let out a pained laugh and smiled. "For that being the worst, most horribly awkward dinner ever in the history of horribly awkward dinners."

"No, uh, it wasn't the worst," Scott replied, smiling at her. "There was this one dinner where my parents told me they were getting a divorce. But this comes in at a close second."

Allison smiled a bit and then turned to Charlie who just stared back blankly. "Oh, this was definitely the most horribly awkward dinner I've ever been to."

After rolling her eyes at Charlie, Allison leaned in towards Scott or a goodbye kiss. Before she could plant one on him though, Scott glanced behind her at her dad who was cleaning the dishes while Mel talked to Mrs. Argent in the far corner. "Uh, I think your dad's watching," he stuttered out.

Allison just smiled and leaned in closer. "Good."

As the two of the kissed, Charlie made a face and scoffed loudly. "Ugh. The two of you are so sweet, I swear you're going to give me type 2 diabetes."

Ignoring her, Scott reached for the doorknob and opened it a crack, preparing to leave. But Before he got the chance, Kate strolled towards them, a serious expression on her face. "Wait a second, guys," she said, coming to a stop in front of the three of them. "Uh, I have to ask Scott something."

"Me?" Scott asked, his voice thick with confusion.

Kate reached forward and shut the front door, blocking his exit. "Yeah, you." She let out an un-humorous laugh and rocked back on the impossibly high heels of her designer boots, shoving her hands in the back pocket of her jeans. "What did you take from my bag?"

A mortified expression crossed Allison's face once again, but this time it was a different kind of mortified—less 'oh, crap my family is embarrassing me' and more 'oh shit, I got caught'—and began rubbing at the back of her neck. Scott on the other hand looked guilty too, but more scared than embarrassed. "What?" he asked, eyes wide.

Kate just raised her eyebrows at him expectantly. "My bag," she insisted. "What did you take from it? Do you need me to repeat the question? Maybe enunciate more clearly."

"What are we talking about?" Mr. Argent asked, moving into the foyer.

Kate sighed heavily. "My bag was open in the guest room and when I left it was shut," she explained, looking pointedly at the floppy-haired wonder. "Scott comes in to use the bathroom. He leaves. My bags open."

"H—he didn't take anything," Allison breathed out nervously. Charlie glanced between all the involved parties, taking in their appearances. Allison was clearly panicking a little bit, Scott was a deer in headlights and Kate didn't show any signs of letting up. She actually looked like she was enjoying it a little.

"Something was taken from my bag," Kate continued, barreling over Allison's protests. "Now I hate to be the accuser here, Scott, because I really do love those adorable brown eyes, but I don't know if you're a klepto, if you're—"

"It was a tampon," Charlie said, probably a little too loudly. All of the sudden all eyes turned on her and she slapped a hand over her mouth, doing her best to look guilty. After a few seconds she pulled her hand away from her face, making sure there was an apologetic wince underneath. "I'm so sorry," she said, turning to Kate specifically. "I had a little bit of an emergency and I couldn't find any in the bathroom so I figured I would just….." she let the sentence trail off. She chewed nervously on her thumbnail, and sent a few flickering glances at Kate and making sure not to maintain eye contact too long so she appeared evasive. "It was an invasion of privacy and I really am incredibly sorry, but I just—I needed—"

"Why didn't you just ask?" Kate demanded, looking at her skeptically.

"Come on," Charlie whispered, staring at the ground and bouncing up and down on her feet. "No girl wants to admit that they're on the rag. And growing up I was kind of taught to avoid the topic. Single dad and all that, it wasn't really up for discussion. I just wanted to avoid that conversation, which is kind of ironic given what I'm doing right now."

Kate gave her an appraising look and then nodded slowly. "Okay," she murmured in a low, slightly dangerous voice. "Okay, Charlie. I'll let it go just this once, but if you ever go through my things again, I won't let you off so easy." She slowly turned on her heel and walked back towards where Mel and Mrs. Argent were standing in the kitchen, soon to be followed by Mr. Argent.

Letting out a long, calming breath, Charlie turned back to Allison and Scott. "One or both of you owes me big."

"Thank you!" they both breathed out at the same time, something that Charlie found more than a little bit curious. She narrowed her eyes at the couple and studied them for a moment. Both seemed to be equally relieved. "Allison, you should probably go make your tampons impossible to find," Charlie muttered. "Try and make me look like I'm telling the truth."

"Right," Allison said with a curt not. She kissed Scott on the cheek and whispered goodbye before flying up the stairs and cover up the lack of evidence. Scott's face went kind of blank—dazed—after she kissed him and he watched her go. After she disappeared around the corner he shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. He moved to open the door again, but Charlie put a hand on his arm, stopping him. "You okay, man?" she asked, patting him on the back. "You're looking kind of peaky."

"Yeah," Scott laughed out, scratching at the back of his neck. "The Argents can be a bit scary."

"I hear that," Charlie replied. "But you better get used to it. I think Allison's going to want you to stick around for a while, and you'll have to deal with that."

That concussed smile came back and he turned back to the door. He opened it and was about to walk through, but then paused, rapping his knuckles against the doorframe. "Hey, Stiles mentioned something to me about a movie he leant you?" he muttered. "He was wondering if he could get it back."

"Nope," Charlie replied immediately, folding her arms across her chest. "Tell him I'm holding it hostage."

"Hostage?" Scott asked, blinking in confusion. "In exchange for what?"

"He knows." And with that she spun on her heels and jogged up the stairs after Allison. After stashing the tampons the two of them ended up in Allison's room. As soon as she shut the door behind the two of them, Allison leaned against it, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor. Covering her face with her hands, she let out a loud groan. Charlie went over and turned on the stereo before flopping on Allison's bed. She stayed quiet, allowing Allison to work through her temporary freakout. Soon enough, though, Allison moved towards her, collapsing back on the bed right next to Charlie.

"I am seriously so sorry about that," she apologized for the thousandth time. "About all the weirdness with Scott and my dad, about Aunt Kate pushing you to talk about your parents—I love her but she's really not that great with boundaries and—"

Charlie reached up and patted Allison on the shoulder and shushed her. "Really, Allison it's fine." She stole a sidelong glance at the other girl. She was staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. Maybe she had PTSD. Charlie rolled over so she was lying on her stomach and propped her head up on one hand. "So what did you take from Kate's bag?"

Wincing heavily, Allison grabbed a pillow from her bed and covered her face with it. "A condom," was the muffled reply that Charlie received. "I took a condom."

Charlie let out a long, low whistle. "Really? So when you say 'I'm going to go study with Scott' is this for some sort of class project on human anatomy?"

"Shut up," Allison groaned, hitting Charlie in the face with the pillow. "I didn't say I was going to use it. I just…..thought I should have the option, you know? In case Scott and I wanted to…you know…."

"Rip off each other's clothes and do the horizontal cha-cha?" Charlie interjected. "What brought this on so suddenly? The two of you haven't even gotten past the doe-eyed staring phase yet."

After shooting Charlie a withering glare, Allison sighed heavily. "I don't know. I just really like him. I don't want his to get bored, you know? And I was talking to Lydia earlier and she suggested that—"

"Let me stop you right there," Charlie broke in, holding up a hand. "Any time a plan begins with the words 'Lydia suggested', you should probably take a long look at what you're about to do because it will probably end in disaster. Lydia is a rare specimen. What works for her doesn't work for most people." Allison let a low whine and rubbed at her eyes in frustration, making Charlie pat her on the shoulder again. "Scott's not going to get bored. Did you see what he went through in that dinner? And he still left with a smile on his face. That boy is one sweeping emotional realization away from being in love with you."

Allison peeked through the gaps between her fingers to give Charlie a questioning look, but was unable to keep that now-familiar dreamy smile from crossing her face. "You really think so."

Charlie groaned loudly. "For the last time, yes!"

"Okay," Allison said, rolling over onto her stomach as well. She reached and grabbed the stuffed bear from the head of her bed and began moving its arms a little bit, like she was off in her own little world and daydreaming. Three guesses what she was thinking about. Charlie let out a loud snort, breaking Allison out of her little trance. "Right," she said, tossing the bear away. "Let's talk about something else." She pushed herself up into the sitting position and crossed her legs underneath her. "So I didn't know you could bowl."

"Yup," Charlie said, popping the 'p'.

"I can't believe you taught Scott how," she continued. "Not a lot of people would go through the trouble."

Charlie just shrugged. "It's not like I saved his life or rescued a bunch of puppies from a burning building. It was just a couple of hours of my time, and he seemed super-nervous so I figured I would help him out."

"Well, thanks," she said, punching Charlie lightly in the shoulder. "I'm just sorry you couldn't come with us and show off some of those skills of yours. I felt kind of bad for leaving you behind—it must not have been the best Friday night."

Charlie waved her hand dismissively. "Meh, it was fine. I ran into Stiles at the video rental place and we ended up watching this 1960s gory horror fl—"

Before she could finish the sentence, though, a hand shot forward and grabbed her arm tightly. Allison was staring at Charlie with wide eyes and a mouth that was hanging open slightly. "Hold on," she said in a calculated way. "You and _Stiles_."

"Yeah…" Charlie drawled out, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. Allison let out a disbelieving scoff and widened her eyes more, nudging Charlie with her elbow. Catching her meaning, Charlie groaned and rolled her eyes. "Not like that. We ran into each other, we had nothing else to do so we watched a movie. We didn't exchange promise rings and swear to love only each other for the rest of our lives. We're friends, that's it." Allison shot her another doubtful look. "Don't give me that look," Charlie continued, waving a finger in Allison's face until the other girl slapped it away. "You're clearly one of those girls who's never had guy friends."

Upon that accusation, Allison bristled and crossed her arms. "I've had guy friends."

"I'm talking about guy friends when there's no weird subtext," Charlie elaborated. "Ones where aren't always holding on to a little bit of hope that they might get some nookie in the future."

Allison opened her mouth to contradict her, but seemed to think better of it. "Well I think the two of you would make a cute couple," Allison chirped in an oddly calculated way as she smoothed out the sheets around her. "And I would definitely be open to more group dates if the two of you got together. They'd probably be a lot less stressful."

"Well that's all fine and good Allison," Charlie replied wearily, "but it's really not up to you is it? I'm not going to let my love life be dictated by your desire to play mini-golf."

"Fine." Allison sighed loudly and shrugged her shoulders. "I just think that it's maybe something you should think about."

"And I'll keep that in mind."

The two girls chatted for about twenty minutes before Mel stuck her head in the door and said it was time to go. After a few more smiles and bland platitudes—'I had such a great time', 'let's do it again some time'—Mel and Charlie closed the front door behind them and, in unison, released a large breath like they had been holding it the entire time they were in the house. They shot each other a sidelong glance and immediately broke into a fit of giggles before tripping their way to the car. Needless to say, they were both pretty happy to be out of there.

But on the car ride back, Charlie felt that there was something off in Mel's behavior. Mel was a naturally reserved person, but she was never incredibly quiet unless there was something wrong. And she was being incredibly quiet right now. Charlie stole a few glances at her aunt in the rearview mirror. She had that little line between her eyebrows that appeared when she was troubled. Charlie sank lower in her seat and frowned to herself. The dinner with the Argents had been a bit dicey, but nothing so terrible as to cause that sort of a reaction. Charlie wondered if she should ask what was wrong, but she bit her lip and stayed quiet.

When they finally got back to the house, Charlie practically exploded through the front door and hurled herself onto the sofa before letting out a theatrical sigh. "Let's never, ever do that again," she called out to Mel, who was slowly walking out of the foyer. Her heels clicked loudly against the tile floor until she came to a stop, leaning against the doorframe of the living room.

"It wasn't that bad," Mel mumbled, making Charlie snort loudly. She never stopped being generous. "I'm serious," Mel insisted. "I mean sure all that stuff with Scott was inappropriate, but bringing boys home never goes well. And Kate seemed nice, if a little pushy."

"If you performed three miracles I would nominate you for sainthood," Charlie sighed out. She maneuvered so she was sitting up straight on the couch and kicked off her Mary Jane heels before propping her feet up on the coffee table. Grabbing the remote, she switched on the TV. "Is there something you want to watch?" she called over, flipping through the channels. But Mel didn't respond. She stood at the doorframe, silently watching Charlie, and when Charlie finally looked up at her she saw that same pained expression on her aunt's face. It made it feel as if her heart dropped into her stomach, where the stomach acids began to slowly digest it. "What's wrong, Mel?" she asked, her voice suddenly getting very low and quiet.

Mel opened and closed her mouth a few times, searching for the right words. "It's just….something Kate said at dinner, or rather something you said to Kate—it got me thinking again."

Charlie switched off the TV and took her feet off the coffee table, planting her elbows on her knees as she leaned in Mel's direction. "Thinking about what?"

Mel rubbed at her forehead like she was trying to stave off a headache and let out a deep, rattling breath like she was trying to maintain her composure. After a few moments she seemed to regain her courage and dropped her hand from her face. "The day your dad died," she continued quietly. "You still haven't talked to anybody about it—about what happened. Not to me, not to your friends as far as I can tell, not to Dr. Hamilton—"

"What does Dr. Hamilton have to do with this?" Charlie snapped. The air around her was beginning to feel thick—un-breathable even—and her hands were involuntarily curling into fists.

Mel blinked at the slight edge of hostility in Charlie's outburst, staying silent for a few moments before continuing. "Dr. Hamilton says you're withholding," she whispered. "She says you're not opening up in her sessions. Bottling this kind of thing up doesn't work."

"On the contrary," Charlie said as she got to her feet. Her voice was shaking slightly, but she did her best to keep it steady. "I think that keeping my business to myself is working out just fine. I've got good friends, I'm doing great in school, my hair is shinier than ever, I—"

"I'm not telling you to go on the loudspeakers and announce your problems to the whole school," Mel murmured. She took a few steps forward and put a comforting hand on Charlie's arm, but Charlie pulled it away. Mel exhaled sharply, startled and a little hurt by Charlie's actions, but she continued anyway. "I just want you to talk to me, Charlie," she said quietly. "I feel like there's a just this giant ball of black inside you, and instead of letting it all go you're just holding onto it and keeping it there."

"And you think me telling you about that—that day—will help?"

Mel let out a relieved sigh and nodded, clearly thinking she had made a breakthrough. "Yes. Yes, I think it will help."

"He was making breakfast and then he was on the floor," Charlie bit out in a carefully controlled voice. "I told you that."

"We both know it was more than just that," Mel said sympathetically. "I want you to share it with me. All of it."

Charlie crossed her arms and continued to squeeze her hands into fists, so much so that her fingernails began to dig into the skin of her palms. "No," she said simply.

"W—what?"

"I said no. I don't want to think about and you don't want to hear it."

"Yes I do," Mel cried out. She stepped towards Charlie and gripped her niece's shoulders. "I want to know. I want you to share this with me."

"You really don't."

"Yes, I do!"

"NO YOU DON'T!" The words came out more as a scream than anything else. She hadn't meant to yell, but she was being dragged back to a dark place. Mel was opening a door that Charlie wanted to keep shut. But it was too late now. The door had already been cracked. Charlie stepped back from Mel and ran her hands down her face. Her breaths were coming out quick and sharp. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek so that the inside began to bleed and her mouth filled with the taste of pennies. Charlie swore under her breath before shooting a few fleeting glances at Mel.

"You don't want to hear it, Mel!" she growled, trying to keep her voice from slipping into a shout. "You don't want hear about how I did CPR for like fifteen minutes before the ambulance showed up! You don't want to hear about how I felt two of his ribs crack under my hands, but kept at it anyway because I didn't know what else to do! You don't want to hear about how I couldn't ride with him in the ambulance because I was in the middle of a full-scale panic attack and kept puking in the sink! You don't want to hear it, and I don't want to think about it!"

Her voice reverberated against the walls of the house, echoing slightly down the hallway. Charlie's eyes, which had been focused intently on the floor, finally made their way back to Mel's face. Her eyes were shining with liquid and silent tears were coursing down her face, leaving dark tracks of eyeliner and mascara as they fell. Charlie's eyes, though, they were as dry as ever. It was like her body wouldn't let her cry—she just couldn't. Even after almost three months, she still couldn't.

The air felt like it was solidifying around her, leaving Charlie to choke on it, and in that moment, she knew that she had to get out. Without another word she brushed past Mel and ran to the front door, grabbing her keys out of the bowl and slamming it behind her as she left. It occurred to her as she scrambled down the driveway that she wasn't wearing any shoes, but she wasn't willing to go back for them. Instead she got into her car and peeled out of the driveway.

Charlie had no idea where she was going. Actually, she wasn't going anywhere. She just flew down those wooded roads, probably violating the speed limit by a fairly wide margin. The windows were rolled all the way down and she let the wind whip at her hair. It kept throwing strands in her face, stinging her skin and her eyes, but at least she felt like she could breathe. But then her eyes fell on that tiny silver St. Christopher's medal hanging from her rearview mirror and she felt that same kick to the stomach all over again. A primal, wordless scream wrenched itself from her lips and she pounded one of her fists against the steering wheel. She just wanted it to go away—for that hollow ache to leave her alone for half a second.

That day. Charlie had kept in stowed away in the back of her mind like she kept that box of her dad's stuff hidden in the back of her closet. Was it the healthiest way to deal with loss? No, no it wasn't. But it worked for her. And it didn't hurt quite so much. She had been doing just fine, but then Mel had to go and open the box. She pulled off the bandage to realize that the wound underneath hadn't healed at all.

It was impossible to tell how long she had been driving around—it might have been five minutes or five hours, but eventually Charlie pulled back up in front of her house. She couldn't make herself get out though. Hell, she couldn't even turn off the engine to the car—she wasn't sure whether or not she'd need to take off again. She just sat there, engine idling, hands gripping the steering wheel tight, and staring out at the road in front of her. Little bits of dust danced in front of the headlights of the car, refracting the golden light in strange, mobile patterns. It was quite beautiful, actually. And calming.

"What the hell are you doing, Chuck?" a vaguely hostile voice snapped from her right. Out of the corner of her eye, Charlie could see a figure leaning against the open window. "Have you finally lost it?"

It was Jackson, clearly having just finished up a date with Lydia, that superior smirk of his still firmly planted on his face. Charlie didn't turn to face him. She just continued to stare out directly in front of her.

"Did you know I didn't cry when my dad died?" she asked quietly. She wasn't sure why she said it, but there was some unseen force inside her making her talk. "I haven't cried since then either."

She had expected Jackson to throw in some cruel, witty retort or call her crazy again, but he didn't. From what she could see out of her peripheral vision, he just twitched slightly and remained silent.

"I used to think it was because I was in shock or something," she continued. "It all happened so quickly. One second he's getting something from the fridge and the next he's laying in a puddle of spilled orange juice, not breathing. And I remember in the hospital the only thing I could think about was how annoying it was that I had gotten orange juice all over me when I tried to get him to stand up. Most people pray and that kind of crap, right? I didn't. I just kept thinking about how I'd have to spend hours in the hospital covered in sticky orange juice before I got to go home. It never even occurred to me that he'd actually die. That wasn't the deal we made. It was him and me against the world." She paused for a moment and then her eyes slid over to the St. Christopher's medal. She reached up and took it between her fingers, running her thumb over the surface. "Now I think the reason I haven't cried because I haven't forgiven him yet."

"Forgiven him for what?" Jackson asked in a voice she didn't recognized.

Charlie released the St. Christopher's medal and finally turned to face him. "For dying."

She wasn't sure what to expect from Jackson after that. Probably some sarcastic quip or maybe he'd call her crazy again. It's not like she could blame him. Random emotional confessions to people you don't know that well or even like that much did seem a little bit crazy. But whatever she expected, what Jackson did next was not on that list. He reached in through the window and unlocked the passenger side door before sliding into the car next to her, staring straight in front of him like she had been doing a moment ago.

"I was adopted," he said suddenly. "My parents died before I ever even got a chance to meet them." Charlie's head snapped around and she studied his profile. His features were set in a serious expression and his jaw was twitching. What the hell was happening? Was Jackson Whittemore actually confiding in her? She wasn't sure what to do with that.

"What's your point?" she asked. It was a bit harsher than she had intended it to sound, but she was still trying to wrap her mind around what was going on.

He gritted his teeth and grunted. "My point is at least you know who to blame. At least you've got someone to be pissed at." He reached over her and gripped her keys were they stayed in the ignition, turning the engine off. They sat in silence for a few more moments before he twisted in his seat to face her, the familiar 'angry male model' expression back on his face. Charlie was actually happy to see it. As things stood now she felt like she had entered the 'Twilight Zone'. "If you tell anybody about this," Jackson growled, gesturing between the two of them, "I will destroy you. Slowly and painfully."

Charlie pursed her lips in consideration and nodded. "Noted."

"This doesn't mean we're friends, Oswin. I still don't like you."

"Well that's good, Jacky," she drawled back. "I still don't like you either."

He narrowed his eyes at the use of his much-hated nickname and climbed out of the car. "Brush your hair, Chuck," he spat, eyeing her unruly locks. "You look like a 'Thriller' music video reject."

"At least I'm not a fire hazard," she shot back. "I can smell so much product in your hair, I'm kind of afraid you're about to spontaneously combust."

Jackson tapped his knuckles against the roof of the car and then turned away from her, walking across the street and climbing into his Porsche before speeding off down the street. Charlie sat in her Impala for a few more minutes before rolling up the windows and making her way into the house. She entered carefully, opening the door slowly and looking around before entering. She scanned the house looking for Mel, to find her sitting on the couch in her pajamas with a carton of ice cream and a spoon while watching a movie. Her eyes were still red, but her face had been scrubbed clean, all traces of the mascara-tears removed. Mel glanced at Charlie for about half a second before they returned to her movie.

Sighing heavily, Charlie turned away from her aunt and slowly climbed the stairs. She prepared herself for bed, changing into her own pajamas and washing her face, but instead of curling up underneath her covers she returned downstairs. After stopping by the kitchen for a spoon, she walked into the living room and collapsed on the couch next to Mel, reaching over and taking a big spoonful of ice cream from the carton. The two of them sat in silence, eating ice cream and watching 'When Harry Met Sally'.

"I love you," Charlie finally murmured. "You know that, right?"

Mel finally wrenched her eyes from the screen and shot Charlie a weak smile. "I know, Charlie. I love you, too."

Neither of them was close to being totally okay, but at least they were on the path.

**So you might know that I'm working on a soundtrack for this story (saved on my profile as a separate story). I haven't gotten to chapter 11 yet, but there are 3 songs I associate with this chapter I'd like to share now.**

**Mel and Charlie arrive home and begin talking about her dad.**

**-~-~-~-Comptine d'Un Autre Ete – Amelie Soundtrack**

**Charlie driving around in her car.**

**-~-~-~-Smoke – Moddi**********this one is awesome, listen to it**

**Charlie goes back inside her house after the conversation with Jackson and watches the movie with Mel.**

**-~-~-~-Black Water – Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes**

**Sorry there was no Stiles in this chapter, but it was a big one for **_**Charlie's**_** development and it needed to happen. I hope you liked it. Also, I bet you didn't expect that bit with Jackson, did you? I've been dying to get to that scene for weeks now, and I'm so glad I finally got to write it! Hopefully you like it.**

**Please review! I would really, really like to know what you think after this chapter and how it impacted how you view Charlie. She's an incredibly strong person (or at least I hope she comes off as such) but she's a bit broken. Love you guys.**


	12. Video Killed the Radio Star

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to LifeIsARayOfSunshine, TameTheGhosts, Neffyl, xXbriannaXx, ScornedxRose, LynZann, SimplyKelly, Lojo2014o, SuperSMA, Moonyong98, ElithaAndWest, Vee, casper6six6, Micaela M, easythrowaway, BriancyyD, bbymojo, Guest, VeeWillRockYou, and Trillen17. And the awesome BrittWitt16 of course.**

**Also I would like to say that I love 'The Notebook'. Charlie, however, does not.**

Chapter 12 – Video Killed the Radio Star

Wednesday nights. If you were to look at all the days of the week and pick out the suckiest possible moment, it more likely than not it landed on a Wednesday night. You still had the homework left for the rest of the week and the weekend was just a few days off, mocking you. It had the promise of freedom combined with the reality of a chemistry test two days away.

Charlie sat at the old, antique desk in her room, leaning over her notebook. She glanced at the clock on the wall behind her. 7:32 p.m. and she was already in her pajamas—a pair of blue sweatpants and an oversized Star Wars T-shirt—her hair was falling out of a messy bun, and all of the makeup had been scrubbed off her face. How sad was that? Hardly her most glamorous moment, but typically studying for Mr. Harris's tests didn't require all that much glamour. Charlie sighed heavily and tapped her pen against the paper in front of her. Sixteen chemistry problems down, another thirty-two left before she had worked through the entire set in the text book. And she was pretty sure she still wouldn't feel prepared. There was no denying it. Harris was a dick.

Swearing loudly, Charlie slammed her book shut and chucked the pen on the desk, ignoring it as it rolled off the table and clattered to the floor. Usually she could just power through this kind of thing no problem, but she was restless. The ticking of the clock felt abnormally loud and the air in her room felt stale and stuffy. And she felt twitchy, drumming her fingers against every solid surface in sight and her knee constantly jumping up and down. It was probably because she hadn't really left the house since that disastrous dinner with the Argents last Friday, except for school and running errands. She loved her house, but whenever she stayed in one place too long, she kind of wanted to take off. The twitchiness had actually started two days ago, but she had stayed put and stayed home. For Mel. Groaning to herself, she opened the book back up and grabbed her pen from where it fell.

That week Charlie and Mel had been spending a lot of time together. Mel hadn't said as much, but Charlie was pretty sure that she had been closing up the shop early so that she could be home early enough for them to eat dinner together. They had developed a bit of a pattern. Charlie would get home from school, do her homework, and fix dinner. Mel would get home, they'd eat, and then they'd watch a movie or play some nostalgic board game. Neither of them mentioned that confrontation earlier—the things that were said and revealed. They just pushed that to the side and ignored it. For conversational purposes, it had never happened. But on the broader spectrum of their interactions, there were definite consequences. It was the reason they were spending so much time together. It wasn't as the relationship felt forced, but Charlie knew that the two of them were monitoring each other, each looking for signs of how the other was doing. And they were both fine, whatever the hell that meant.

If there was anybody who suffered from this new pattern, it wasn't Mel or Charlie. It was Lydia. Five nights in a row she had tried to make plans with Charlie, and five nights in a row she had been blown off. Every single time Charlie said she couldn't join her for a movie or for shopping or anything like that, Lydia got a little bit angrier and a little bit more disappointed. Not only that, but she insisted on calling at various points during the evening to inform Charlie exactly how much fun she _wasn't _having and to urge her to join her for whichever misadventure in which she was partaking. And low and behold, the jarring strains of 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' started playing from somewhere inside her bag.

Charlie rooted around in the green messenger bag of hers until she found it. "No," she said immediately into the receiver.

"That's how you answer the phone?" Lydia's voice cracked out from the other side. "It's no wonder you don't have a boyfriend yet."

Rolling her eyes, Charlie ignored the jab. "I'm not going out with you tonight, Lydia," she said, scratching out the beginnings of a molar ratio problem. "I've got dinner with Mel and I have to study for the chemistry test on Friday. I've got to work my way through the assignment Harris gave us."

"You know those chemistry problems are optional, right?" Lydia drawled out. "You don't actually have to work them all."

"I do if I want to be ready for the test," Charlie replied dryly. "Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration, and I'm sweating chemistry right now, so—"

"Jesus, Chuck," Jackson's voice crackled out from the other end of the connection. "You're even nerdy when you're talking about how much of a nerd you are."

The scratching of Charlie's pen against the paper paused when she heard his voice. "Lydia," she said carefully, "am I on speaker-phone?"

"Yup," she chirped out. "And don't worry about me trying to make you have fun. You're free to stay in your room and do homework like a creepy hermit with no life. I was just calling to see if you were alive and hadn't been eaten by your future cats who will soon be your only friends while Jackson gets his ass in the store and rents us a copy of 'The Notebook'."

"Oh, no," she heard Jackson say, frustration seeping into his tone. "I told you already, 'Hoosiers'—"

"Ooh, I love that movie," Charlie murmured.

"See!" Jackson practically shouted. "Even Chuck likes it."

"Well Charlie isn't here is she?" Lydia bit out sarcastically. "She's too busy being boring."

"Who cares about her?" Jackson interjected. "'Hoosiers' is not only the best basketball movie ever, it's the best sports movie ever made."

"No," Lydia said simply.

"It's got Gene Hackman and Dennis Hopper," he insisted, his voice getting more and more tense.

"No."

"Lydia, I swear to God you're going to like it!"

"No."

Charlie didn't even have to be there to know the angry look on Jackson's face. She had been on the receiving end of it plenty of times herself. "I am not watching 'The Notebook' again!"

All Charlie could hear was dead silence, meaning Lydia was giving him one of her looks. She sighed heavily and began tapping her pen against the paper again. "Did you guys call me because you need some sort of relationship counselor?" she asked in an arch tone. "Because I charge $120 an hour and I really don't think I have enough time to sort out all of your problems."

"Shut up, Chuck," Jackson spat. There was a scrambling sound, some cursing, and a car door being slammed shut. Charlie shoved a fist in her mouth to fight back the laughter. She did pity Jackson. In the time that she had known him and Lydia, he had been forced into watching 'The Notebook' about six times, five times more than Charlie herself. After that first time Charlie had excused from all future viewings—if she wanted to see Ryan Gosling shirtless, she could look up photos on Google like a creepy stalker. It probably didn't make her the best of people, but she never failed to find frustrated/angry Jackson absolutely hilarious. Schadenfreude.

Charlie yawned widely and twirled her hair absently. "So where do you keep his balls?" she asked in a casual tone. "Do you carry them around in your purse or did you have them bronzed and set on your mantle at home?"

"Oh, please," Lydia sighed. "Jackson and I have a mutually beneficial relationship. He watches 'The Notebook' and in exchange I—"

"I'm actually begging you to stop talking," Charlie said, rolling her eyes.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a bit repressed?" Lydia replied.

"I'm not repressed," Charlie shot back. "It's just like I told you earlier. I prefer to think of Jackson as a Ken doll who will never, ever procreate and perpetuate himself in the gene pool."

"Ugh, I don't know how to deal with the two of you," Lydia sighed. "At first it was kind of funny but now all the arguing is getting boring." The words came out kind of slow and haltingly, kind of like they were on a lag, and then Charlie heard a sound like a camera shutter going off. She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. "Lydia, are you taking photos of yourself again?"

"Um, yeah," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "My pores are super-small today and my hair is really shiny. It needs to be documented."

"It's nice to know that I have your full attention," Charlie murmured.

"Please. It's called multi-tasking. You know the thing where you're capable of doing more than one thing at a time. Like getting you're schoolwork done _and _hanging out with your magnificently awesome best friend in the whole world." There was a short pause and another click of a photo being taken. "I miss you," Lydia whined. "I haven't seen you all week and we live right across the street from each other. That's just ridiculous. Ditch the chemistry and come watch 'The Notebook' with us."

"I thought that you weren't going to try and make me have fun."

"Well sue me for not wanting you to turn into one of the agoraphobic chicks from 'Grey Gardens'," Lydia grumbled back, snapping another picture. "Seriously, blow off the chemistry. You've got one of the highest grades in the class."

"That's because I study my ass off," Charlie replied. "Not all of us has a freaking encyclopedia in their brain. Some of us have to work for it." Charlie had expected a snappy comeback or another criticism of her wardrobe, but she didn't get one. "Lydia?"

At that moment there was a loud crash—the sound of glass breaking—followed by an unearthly scream. "Lydia!" Charlie shouted into the phone. "Lydia, answer me! Lydia!"

There as no response, and then the line went dead. Charlie pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it for a moment, her mind racing at a million miles a minute. Panic flooded through her along with the adrenaline, setting her nerve endings on fire. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. She needed to do something. What was she supposed to do? Help, that was what she was supposed to do. But how was she supposed to do that? Without thinking, Charlie yanked on a pair of blue Converse, not bothering to find socks, grabbed her bag and flew down the stairs. She almost tripped and fell on her face when she got to the bottom of the stairs, but managed to right herself and stumbling towards the front door. Just as she was in the foyer, grabbing her keys and about to wrench the door open when Mel appeared around the corner holding a bowl and drying cloth in her hands.

"Charlie?" she asked, her eyebrows drawn together in concern. "Charlie, is everything alright?"

"Y—yeah," Charlie managed to stammer out breathlessly. She needed to think of a plausible lie, and fast. Mel was a fairly trusting guardian, but there was no way she would let Charlie drive off to what might at this point be a crime scene in the middle of the night. And that was exactly what Charlie intended on doing. "Yeah, everything's fine," she said in a voice that wasn't entirely trustworthy. "I just got off the phone with Allison and she wants me to come over. Boy problems she needs to vent about. Girl talk, you know—makeup, One Direction, the climate crisis."

"Have you finished studying for your chemistry yet?" Mel asked. Charlie was bouncing up and down on her feet as Mel spoke, willing her to talk more quickly.

"Yes," Charlie said loudly, giving a big nod. "Absolutely done and finished. Totally confident."

"Okay, then," Mel drawled out, giving Charlie a curious look. "Just…be back by 10:00."

"Yes. By 10:00. Absolutely."

"Okay, then," Mel said in a careful voice. "I guess I'll see you later then. Drive safe."

Charlie laughed uncomfortably and gave Mel a salute before grappling with the handle and sliding out of the door. She ran to the car, chucked her bag into the passenger's seat, and practically threw herself in before revving the engine and taking off down the street. As she sped down the streets she leaned over, rummaging around in her bag until she found her phone. Taking a long, deep breath she punched in the numbers 9-1-1 and pressed it to her ear. A few seconds later and unfamiliar voice spoke into her ear.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

Charlie held the phone to her ear with her shoulder and reached down to shift the car into a higher gear and picking up even more speed. "Hello," she breathed into the receiver, stumbling over her own words. "I'd like to report an attack at Video 2 C on Spruce St. You need to get someone out there right now. I mean immediately."

"Slow down, ma'am," the female voice said from the other side of connection. "What is the nature of the attack?"

"What is the nature of the atta—? I don't know the freaking nature of the attack! I just know that you need to get someone down there now!"

"Miss," the woman said in a placating tone, "miss I'm going to have to ask you to calm down and explain calmly to me wh—"

"I'm not going to be freaking calm!" Charlie shouted back. She took a quick, deep breath and lowered her voice. "All I know is that I was on the phone with my friend who was renting a video. Then I heard this big crash and she screamed and—just get someone down there! Please!"

"Alright," the woman said calmly. "Alright, just stay on the line while I dispatch somebody to that location."

There was a loud click as the woman put her on hold and Charlie was left with 'on hold' music resonating in her ears. It was 'I Shot the Sheriff' by Bob Marley. "You've got to be freaking kidding me," Charlie whispered under her breath at the music crackled out over the weak connection. It felt like an eternity she was listening to that song before she heard the click of the line engaging again.

"Miss?" The dispatcher replied. "Miss, I'm being told that officers are already on their way to that location. We've received multiple reports from that area."

"Can you tell me what's happened?" Charlie stammered out. "Do you know if my friends are okay? Can you—"

"I'm afraid that I don't have any other information at this time. Now if you'll just remain—"

Charlie abruptly hit the 'end call' button, effectively hanging up on the woman. She didn't have any information, that conversation was useless. She quickly punched in Lydia's number and listened to the phone ring and ring and ring. No answer. Shit. She needed more information, and she needed it now. Chucking her phone into the passenger's seat, she pressed down on the accelerator a little bit more.

It took twenty minutes to get to the video store. For some reason getting anywhere in Beacon Hills always seemed to take twenty minutes no matter how fast she went. By the time she made it into the parking lot of the video rental place, a small crowd had already gathered around the front. She could see the flashing lights of police cars and then an ambulance. Every inch of her suddenly felt really, really cold. All she could think of was who might be in that ambulance. She flew into the parking lot at a speed that was probably inadvisable given the number of police and pedestrians present. She slammed on the breaks and skidded to a halt, the tires screeching and leaving dark tracks of black rubber against the asphalt. Her car was at a strange angle, diagonally spread across about three different parking spaces. She violently threw it into park and climbed out, not bothering to lock the door before sprinting towards the building.

She shoved her way to the front of the group of onlookers, using her elbows if necessary and eliciting a lot of angry shouts from the people around her. As she got nearer the front of the group, she craned her neck and scanned the scene in front of her. The video store appeared to be completely vacant and there were deputies lining it off with crime scene tape. Shit. That meant something violent had happened. The window for the front display was completely shattered, shards of glass projected a good ten feet in front of the building, some of it resting on Lydia's shiny Beetle that was parked right in front of the story. A tiny voice in the corner of her mind pointed out that whatever had caused the commotion, it had broken out of the store, not in, but her brain was still in too much of a panic mode to fully register the significance of that. Finally, her eyes slid across the scene until they fell on the ambulance. The door to the back was open and Lydia was perched on the bumper with Jackson standing near her, holding her hand and speaking to the paramedics and policemen that were milling around him.

Charlie released the breath she felt like she had been holding ever since that call from Lydia, expelling all of the air from her lungs and leaning over at the waist. She gulped down some more air until her breathing began to normalize and her heart stopped beating a million times a minute. A feeling of relief flooded through her, replacing the jumpy, blinding panic she had been going through just a moment ago. They were okay. They may have been slightly traumatized given the wide-eyed expression of terror still firmly etched into Lydia's face and the constipated look on Jackson's, but they were okay. Charlie took another step forward in their direction, breaking the invisible line that seemed to have been formed by the onlookers, but one of the deputies stopped her.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, holding an arm out to block her path. "I can't allow you past this point."

"What?" Charlie asked, blinking at him stupidly. "No, you can't—those are my friends. I need to make sure they're okay."

"I'm sure they'll be fine," he replied, a slightly sarcastic, know-all intonation filling his voice, like he was instructing a small, confused child. "The EMTs have already checked them out and there won't be any lasting damage. Right now we need to take their statements and get this mess all sorted out. It won't be too much longer."

Letting out a loud huff, Charlie took a step back from the line. Jesus she was cold. In her rush she hadn't exactly had the foresight to get a jacket. And, as it turned out, she would have to stay cold for a very long time. That deputy was a liar. She was forced to stand on the fringes for at least an hour waiting to get to her friends. More and more cars arrived and more people filled in as onlookers, and the longer she waited and more times she was waved off, the angrier she got.

Charlie knew it wasn't justified, but given the excess adrenaline still coursing through her veins the deputy's dismissive behavior sent a wave of anger through her. She tried to make her way past the line again and was stopped by the same deputy. "Listen here, Dudley Do-Right," Charlie growled under her breath. "I know that you're just doing your job and I respect that, but those are my friends over there and if you think—"

All of the sudden she was cut off by a familiar and highly confused sounding voice. "Charlie?"

Her head snapped around to see Stiles sitting in the passenger's side of a nearby police cruiser. He scrambled over the console and into the driver's side and rolled the window down the rest of the way so that he was hanging out of the car, his entire torso sticking out the window. "It's okay, Sean," he said, waving his hand at the deputy who was currently glowering at her. "She's with me."

Sean let out a loud snort and raised his eyebrows skeptically at Stiles. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times and jerked his head to the side. "Well…yeah."

He glared at the two of them before taking a step back. "Stay behind the line. _Both_ of you." He shot them both one more warning look, gesturing between his eyes and theirs. He turned around and made his way back to the video store where the other cops were. Stiles glowered at his back and did that weird miming of bickering after him before turning back to Charlie. He looked her up and down, a questioning look on his face. It was just then that she remembered that she was essentially wearing pajamas—that giant, ratty old Star Wars T-shirt and sweatpants—with no makeup and hair falling out of that messy bun which she now realized had a pen sticking out of it.

"Are you okay, Charlie?" he asked, opening the driver's side door and climbing out of the car. He glanced over her shoulder and a weird look crossed his face. She followed his plane of vision and saw her spectacularly bad parking job, complete with a long streak of tire tracks leading up to it. Stiles cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his neck, gesturing at the car. "You know I'm pretty sure you can get ticketed for that."

Charlie let out a nervous laugh and pulled the hair tie out, letting it spill down on her shoulders and shaking it out, ignoring the Bic and bright yellow number 2 pencil that clattered to the ground. Stiles cleared his throat again and planted his hands on his hips. "So what are you doing here?"

"I felt a sudden urge to catch up on 'Breaking Bad'," Charlie drawled out. She pushed herself up on her tiptoes and looked over Stiles's head to get a better look at what was going on in the background. Jackson was talking to Sheriff Stilinski and the anger was beginning to build up behind his eyes. He was about to blow. Her view was obstructed, though, when Stiles started snapping his fingers in front of her face.

"Earth to Charlie," he sang out. "Seriously, what happened?"

Charlie's eyes shifted back to his face and she gave him a withering look. "It doesn't feel good when people are withholding, does it?"

"Just tell me what happened!" he practically exploded, before suddenly retreating and slapping a hand over his mouth. "You know, if you want to I mean. No pressure. But whatever it is you're going to have to tell the cops and then my dad is just going to tell me anyway, so you might as well go ahead and tell me right now."

"Your dad's not going to tell you a damn thing—not on an open investigation." The crestfallen expression on Stiles's face was enough to tell her that she was right. Charlie had contemplated leaving it at that, but Stiles was twitching so much she thought it might be the lead-in to at stress-induced seizure. So she caved. She sighed loudly and ran a hand through her hair before continuing. "I was on the phone with Lydia—she was forcing Jackson to watch the 'The Notebook' for like the fourteen hundredth time—and while we were talking I hear this crash, she screams, the line went dead—"

"Did you hear anything else?" Stiles interrupted.

Charlie frowned slightly. "Hear anything else like what."

"Like—like a growl. Like a mountain lion growl. Or roar. Or anything else animal-related, really."

"No," she replied, shaking her head, and then for some reason a look of relief crossed his face. Great. More Stiles/Scott/Derek secretive stuff. "No, it's like I said," she continued. "The call cut off and I came straight here."

At that Stiles's eyes widened slightly in disbelief. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, rubbing at his chin. "So what you're saying," he said waving his hand in her direction, "what you're saying is that you hear a violent scary attack and you're first instinct is to what? Hop in the car and drive straight _towards_ the danger? Because that sounds like a great idea."

"I called the cops on the way," Charlie said, shrugging her shoulders.

Stiles just made a weird grunting noise and shook his head—she was pretty sure she heard him mutter the word 'stupid'—making Charlie frown and punch him in the shoulder. He grabbed at the point where she hit him and winced theatrically. "That's too hard!"

"What the hell was I supposed to do, huh, Stiles?" she demanded. "Was I just supposed to sit there and wonder if Lydia and Jackson were okay? She wasn't answering her phone—they could be bleeding out for all I knew! So yeah, I hopped in the car and drove straight _towards_ the danger! In the middle of the night, in my pajamas! Do you have a problem with that?"

"Those are your pajamas?" he asked, looking her up and down again.

Charlie clenched her jaw and folded her arms across her chest. "Stiles! Focus here. I asked you if you had a problem with that."

"Nope!" he answered quickly, shaking his head fervently. "Nope, no problem here. Completely problem-less zone. It's actually pretty cool that you would—I mean what I'm saying is that not a lot of people would put themselves in that—" He wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes at her, shying away a bit. "You're not going to hit me again are you?"

"That depends," Charlie muttered darkly. "Are you going to keep saying stupid things?"

"Probably, yeah," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and bouncing up and down on his heels.

Charlie glowered back at him, but the smallest hint of a smile reluctantly began to pull at her lips. "Well, I'll do my best to contain myself."

Stiles blew out a loud breath and shrugged. "You can try. The ladies always seem to have trouble containing themselves around me—it's a problem." Charlie stared at him for a moment before a loud snort forced its way out of her nose. Stiles pressed his lips together in a resigned smile and nodded. "Okay, okay, we get it. You don't have to laugh that hard."

Coughing a few times, Charlie slapped her hand over her mouth. "Sorry."

"Yeah, right."

Charlie wrapped her arms around her waist to guard her against the cold and shivered slightly. Stiles blinked in something that seemed like realization before shrugging out of his jacket. Charlie, realizing what he was doing opened her mouth slightly and shook her head. "You really don't have to do that."

Stiles let out a loud scoff. "Please," he said dismissively. "You're freezing your ass off. Plus we get to reinforce some gender stereotypes, and that's always fun." He held the jacket out to her. When she didn't take it he began shaking it around in front of her face. "Seriously, Charlie? Are you really going to get frostbite because it would violate your delicate feminist principles?"

A small smile formed on Charlie's lips and she snatched the jacket from him, quickly pulling it on over her shoulders. "There you go," Stiles said, gesturing at her. "Was that so difficult."

"I smell like curly fries."

"You're welcome."

Charlie shoved her hands in the pockets of the jacket to warm them and bounced up and down on her heels. "Thank you."

Stiles turned around so that he was facing the crime scene, leaning on the hood of the car, and gestured for her to stand next to him. She walked up and rested her arms on the hood of the car so that her elbow was barely touching Stiles's and she laced her fingers together, resting her chin on her hands. Her eyes roved around the whole scene for what felt like the millionth time, trying to put it all together and figure out what had happened. The window was shattered outwards not inwards, meaning it wasn't a break-_in_—something had thrown itself _out_ of the building through that plate of glass. The inside of the store was largely obscured by the policeman, but from what her strained eyes could see it was a mess—shelves overturned, videos strewn everywhere. Her tentative conclusion: it was another animal attack.

Stiles did the same, but he kept tapping his fingers against the metal of the car. "Would you stop that," she muttered, reaching over and grabbing his hand to still it. "I'm trying to concentrate here and your twitching is kind of making me want to pull out my hair." The moment her hand touched his he stopped moving, twitching slightly in response, and shot her a questioning sidelong glance. Charlie felt a swooping feeling of guilt washing through her and removed her hand. That had been a little harsh. Not quite as harsh as the expletives Jackson was shouting at the sheriff right now, but still unnecessary. She sighed heavily and ran her hands down her face. She twisted around so that one side was leaning against the car, and she gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I've had a kind of a stressful evening. Studying for chemistry was bad enough, but thinking that Lydia might be dead for a solid twenty minutes didn't really help restore my chi or whatever."

"That's okay," he said understandingly. "After a phone call like that you're entitled to freak out."

"I did not freak out," Charlie muttered back. "I exhibited rational concern."

"Come on," Stiles drawled back, rolling his eyes. "Look at your car. You freaked out."

"No I didn't."

He raised his eyebrows at her skeptically. "You looked like you were about to punch Sean in the face," he deadpanned, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the deputy's direction.

"Yeah," Charlie admitted reluctantly. "Because he was being an ass."

"Hey," another disembodied male voice shouted. "I heard that!"

"Well then let it be a lesson on how you present yourself to other people, Sean!" Stiles shouted back before back to Charlie. He shoved his hands in his pant pockets and narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "So you think punching someone in the face is a 'rational response'," he said using air quotes.

Charlie crossed her arms defensively and shrugged. "Depends on the context. And how annoying that person's face is."

Stiles shrugged and made a strange face at her. "There was a little bit of freaking," he insisted, holding up his thumb and forefinger to indicate.

"There was no freaking!"

"You're freaking out right now."

Charlie opened her mouth to retort, but though better, instead letting out a loud huffing noise and leaning against the car again. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet anxiously. Physically Lydia looked fine, but she was definitely going through some psychological aftershocks, and Jackson's obnoxious shouting wasn't doing anything to restore her state of mind. As headstrong as the girl was, Charlie knew that Lydia didn't cope well with trauma. Stiles, seeming to notice the internal turmoil, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a one-armed hug. "Hey, Charlie, it's okay. Lydia's fine, Jackson's fine, you're fine. Everybody's f—"

The words dropped from his lips when one of the deputies wheeled a gurney out of the video store, carrying a lumpy looking load that was covered by a simple white sheet. Charlie wrapped her arms around her waist, suddenly feeling very cold again. Bungee cords were strapped near the top and bottom of the gurney revealing two distinct bulges which anybody who was paying the slightest bit of attention appeared to be the head and the feet. And if there was any doubt whatsoever, the men who were pushing the thing hit a big bump. The jarring motion seemed to shake something loose, and then all of the sudden and arm fell from under the sheet. Charlie swore loudly and glanced over at Stiles, whose arm had dropped from her shoulders and was gaping at the sheet. "You were saying?"

Stiles was a little too preoccupied to notice her, his eyes fixed on the gurney. "Oh, whoa, is that a dead body?" he shouted at the top of his lungs. A low, worried murmur washed through the crowd of onlookers and Sheriff Stilinski turned in their direction, a look of sheer, unadulterated exasperation crossing his face. Stiles, immediately recognizing his mistake, made a sheepish-looking face. Meanwhile, Jackson had looked over in the direction, caught sight of her, and began waving her over.

"Chuck!" he shouted bitterly. "Get over here!"

Charlie frowned slightly and looked over to Sheriff Stilinski for confirmation. He didn't look all to pleased about the idea, but he raised a hand gestured at her to come over anyway. Charlie whispered a quiet 'goodbye' to Stiles, and pushed through the line of officers, knocking a little harder into Deputy Sean than was probably necessary.

"Fantastic," Jackson spat bitterly as she approached. "Oswin, you're dad was part of the lower middle class wasn't he? Can you please translate so Paul Blart Mall Cop over here can understand what I'm trying to tell him? I. Want. To. Go. Home. Get that through your freaking skull!"

Charlie couldn't help the involuntary sneer that formed on her face as he shouted at the sheriff. "Jackson, shut the hell up or I'll shove my foot so far up your ass that you'll be chewing the remnants of the gum that's been stuck there since Monday," she said in a calm, even tone. Charlie moved towards and Lydia and grabbed onto one of her cold hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Lydia, how are you doing?" she asked quietly.

Lydia blinked up at her with wide, slightly blank-looking eyes. "I'm fine."

Charlie wasn't even close to believing her. She gave the girl's hand one more squeeze before turning to Sheriff Stilinski who seemed to take a small degree satisfaction in her dressing down of the idiot boy standing next to her.

"Charlie," he said quietly, nodding in greeting. "What are you doing here?"

"I was on the phone with Lydia when that happened," she said, pointing at the car. "She wasn't answering her phone after, so I came to see if she and the walking, talking tub of hair gel standing next to me were okay."

"Her phone is in the car," Jackson spat. "Both of ours are. If they weren't I would have called someone to get us out of this carnival of incompetence we call a police department."

Both Charlie and Sheriff Stilinski ignored Jackson's exclamation. "So you heard the attack?" the sheriff asked, flipping open his notebook and poising it to write. "Is there anything you can tell us that might help? Miss Martin hasn't really been able to tell us anything."

Charlie took a glance back over her shoulder at Lydia, who was still holding her hand. It kind of looked like she had checked out. All of her typical boldness and self-confidence was gone, leaving behind a scared little girl. Which, if she was being honest, was something Charlie could kind of relate to.

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "I really wish there was something. One second we were talking, then there was a crash and a scream, and then the line went dead. That's all I can say. I wish there was more to it, but that's it. I know it's not much help."

Sheriff Stilinski nodded slowly, slight disappointment clearly written on his face. "Well if there's anything else you can think of—"

"Great!" Jackson interrupted loudly. "So now that you've harassed all of us, can I go now?"

"The EMTs still say that you might have a concussion," he responded in a carefully modulated tone. "You can't drive home until—"

"I've already gone through all the bullshit procedures," Jackson growled. "The flashlight in my eyes that probably gave me glaucoma. The questions—'What's your name', 'what year is it', 'who's the president'? Now the only question left is whether or not I need to call my father—who is a lawyer—to get me out of this hellhole!"

"I can drive him home," Charlie suggested suddenly, making Jackson and the sheriff turn to face her. "I mean, if that's the only issue here, I can drive both him and Lydia home. I've got my car over there—" she gestured over her shoulder in the direction of her Impala. Sheriff Stilinski raised his eyebrows at her when he saw the parking job and she just shrugged her shoulders unremorsefully. "I was in a hurry. Anyways, I can take them both home and swing by to pick up Lydia's Beetle tomorrow when the crime scene is all cleared out."

Sheriff Stilinski scratched at his jaw absently in consideration before nodding in agreement. "Okay," he mumbled. "Okay. Leaving the car where it is might give us a better idea of how this all happened anyway."

A few minutes later, some deputies had fished all of Jackson's and Lydia's personal belongings out of the Beetle and the three of them were in her car, driving home. Jackson was in the front seat, ranting some more about the incompetence of the police department while Lydia sat quietly in the back. After he finally ran out of breath, Jackson fell silent and put on his 'broody' face. But glancing at his reflection in the rearview mirror, Charlie could tell that it wasn't his typical 'broody face'—the one he got when he was pissed off at something like when the lunch lady shorted him on tater tots. It was a variation on the 'broody face'—the 'pensive face' that happened only when he was thinking seriously on a topic, like when he was glowering at the back of Scott's head.

"What happened in there?" Charlie asked quietly, glancing between him and the road.

"It was an animal attack," he replied immediately. "What else could it be?"

"You know what I meant, Jackson," she murmured seriously. "I meant specifically. What happened in that store?"

Jackson sighed and nodded in agreement, but Charlie picked up a slight twitching in his eyes. They were darting back and forth like he was speed-reading a book. That was his tell. He was trying to come up with a plausible lie. "Fine, Chuck," he growled. "I walk into the store and find the clerk-guy with his throat ripped out. Then the lights went out and I heard this growling noise like an animal. I hid behind some of the shelves, it pushed the shelves over crushing me under it, and then it jumped out the window. Story over."

"That's it?" she asked in a tone of disbelief. "You didn't see the animal."

"You mean the mountain lion?" Jackson spat back. "No I didn't see it. I was trying pretty hard to make sure it didn't see me!"

"Can we talk about something else, please?" Lydia's voice interrupted from the back seat. Both Jackson and Charlie immediately stopped talking. Jackson twisted around to look at her while Charlie studied her in the mirror. She still had those hollow-looking eyes, but her face was no longer set in that mask of fear. Lydia's eyes flicked up to meet Charlie's in the mirror. "Well?" she demanded, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

Charlie blinked in confusion. "Well what?"

"Put on some music," Lydia replied abruptly. "And make sure it has a decent beat. None of that depressing acoustic stuff you listen to all the time."

For the rest of the car ride, the only sound was the blaring of the radio. All three of them finished the trip in complete silence with Charlie watching the road, Lydia staring absently out the window, and Jackson for some reason kept rubbing his hands on the back of his neck, right behind the collar of his black jacket. But no matter how still they were sitting or how quiet they were being, there was still an unnamed tension filling up the car. Charlie could almost feet it on her skin, crackling like static electricity. One wrong move and you get shocked.

Charlie dropped Jackson off first, but not before he shared long, passionate, saliva-filled kiss with Lydia. Not that Charlie could blame either of them. It was a 'thank God we're alive kiss', which could apparently get pretty intense. So she just sat there quietly, feeling a bit like a voyeuristic creeper, while they chewed each other's faces off in celebration for not being eaten alive. Eventually Lydia slid into the front seat and they made their way home.

As she pulled up on their block, Charlie turned the music off but let the engine idle. She glanced over in the direction of Lydia's house. The lights were off and there wasn't a car in the driveway. It was the third night that week that Mrs. Martin had been conspicuously absent from the house. For such a big, beautiful house, it always seemed empty. And the way Lydia was staring at the exterior, she wasn't looking forward to going in there.

"You're mom isn't home," Charlie said simply, staring at the empty driveway.

"Nope," Lydia replied, popping the 'p'. "Big surprise there."

"Where is she?"

Lydia shrugged and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "A benefit. They're saving the sea turtles while eating cocktail shrimp of something like that. It should come with a nice gift bag, though."

It was always difficult for Charlie to come up with something to say in situations like these. She was crappy enough at opening up on her own, so trying to get someone else to open up was a complete freaking mystery. Especially when that someone was Lydia, who wasn't too good at disclosing either. She was still going to try though.

Charlie cleared her throat and shifted so that she was facing the red-head. "Listen Lydia," she said in the 'safe space' tone Dr. Hamilton always seemed to use. "If there's anything you want to talk ab—"

"I want to watch 'The Notebook'," Lydia suddenly blurted out, in a rehearsed-sounding tone.

"W—what?" Charlie stammered out, more than a little bit confused.

"I said I want to watch 'The Notebook'," Lydia continued, the wide-eyed traumatized expression on her face morphing into a strangely blank one. "I mean, that's how this whole thing got started, isn't it? I want to watch 'The Notebook', and I'm not going to let some idiotic, directionally challenged mountain lion stop me." She turned to Charlie, her eyebrows raised expectantly. "Are you in or what?"

Charlie opened and closed her mouth a few times, kind of like a fish dying on the deck of a boat. "A—are you sure?"

Lydia looked back at the dark, empty house and nodded. "Absolutely. Nothing puts things into perspective like Ryan Gosling's sweaty, shirtless torso."

"Really?" Charlie snorted out.

"Yes," Lydia chirped. "It means the world to me."

Charlie gaped a bit more but then nodded in agreement. "Okay, then. I think Mel has a copy of it in her insanely huge collection of romcoms. Let me grab it and I'll be right over."

Lydia nodded silently and got out of the car, making her way over to her house. Charlie watched her go for a moment. Her walk was kind of slow and lethargic—not at all resembling the typical Lydia Martin strut. Charlie exhaled sharply and jogged to her own front door. She made her excuses to Mel, grabbed the movie, and made it over to Lydia's inside of fifteen minutes time. Still, by the time she made it to the door, Lydia had already changed into her nightgown—one of those super-frilly lacy and intricate ones that was definitely horrifically uncomfortable—with a satiny pink robe covering it, holding two insanely full glasses of what looked to be chardonnay.

"Um, Lydia," she mumbled hesitantly, pointing at the glasses. "What is this?"

"It's girls' night in," she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Here you go." She shoved one of the glasses into Charlie's hand, spilling a bit on the floor. "Don't worry about that," she said, waving a hand absently. "I'll clean it up later. Where's the movie?"

Charlie quickly entered the house and slammed the door behind her before turning around and studying Lydia's face for a moment. There had been a radical shift in her behavior, and she thought she could see why. Lydia's pupils were hugely dilated, which usually only meant one thing. Drugs. "I thought girls' night in entailed eating a crap-load of ice cream and talking about guys."

A light, musical laugh burst forth from Lydia's mouth. "Don't be silly, Charlie. This is the suburbs. We don't have ice cream. We have Xanax."

"Xanax?" Charlie repeated in a disbelieving tone.

"Yeah," Lydia replied, nodding enthusiastically and holding up a bottle. "The desperate housewives like dear old mommy pop them like tic-tac's. I found this in her underwear drawer. How cliché is that?"

"Super-cliché," Charlie said carefully, taking the bottle away from Lydia. "Let's put that back, shall we?"

Lydia allowed Charlie to take the pills, but also took a long sip from her glass. "So where's the movie?"

Charlie silently held up the movie and Lydia snatched it out of her hands. "Great! Let's go."

As she made her way to the living room, Lydia wobbled slightly. Charlie thought about pressing her for details of what had happened during the attack—details of what exactly had terrified her so much that her first coping mechanism was to get silly on mood-stabilizers and white wine—but she forced all of those instincts down and packed them away. No, she would sit there and watch what she thought to be one of the most overrated films of all time—except for 'Titanic' of course—and agree with every drugged-up comment that came out of Lydia's mouth while monitoring her and making sure that she didn't end up too far gone. She wasn't sure how to do that seeing as Lydia was already pretty hopped up on the Xanax, but she kept grabbing the wine out of her hands whenever possible. The result was a number of spills on the couch and floor as Lydia grabbed at it. She would have to clean those up later. But that's what friends did, right? Watch after each other and clean up each other's messes. She was doing a good job of it too. Until one annoying little thought popped into her head.

The movie was right at the part where Rachel McAdams's mother gives the letters back, and something occurred to Charlie. When she had been talking to Lydia—at the time of the attack—Lydia had been taking those self-portrait photos with her phone. Given the rate at which Lydia took photos of herself, it was entirely possible she had caught a picture of whatever the attacking animal.

"Hey, Lydia," Charlie whispered loudly, leaning towards her friend. "Lydia!"

The only response she got was a light, muffled snore. She looked away from the screen to see that Lydia was out cold, her face pressed against one of the pillows. Her hair was all mussed and there was a thin stream of drool pouring out of her mouth and soaking the pillow. She checked her watch. It was 10:03 p.m. Lydia's mom wouldn't be back for another hour, giving her plenty of time to clean up.

"Okay," Charlie mumbled, hauling Lydia's limp form up to the sitting position. "Time to get you to bed." Lydia smacked her lips a few times and mumbled a few incoherent refusals, but given the way her head was sagging and her hair was falling in her face she was in no condition to fight the inevitable. She giggled and reached up to pat Charlie's cheek but ended up almost sticking a finger up her nose. "You're pretty," she said through a giggle.

"Wow," Charlie muttered under her breath. "How much did you take? You are super-high right now."

After a few moments of maneuvering, Charlie had managed to sling Lydia over her shoulder. It wasn't exactly easy—for such a tiny person she weighed a ton. "Don't squirm," she called out while climbing the stairs. "I don't want to drop you, even though that massive brain of yours will probably cushion the fall."

Finally Charlie made it to Lydia's room and flopped her onto the bed as gently as possible. "In you go," she murmured, pulling back the covers and tucking Lydia in. The girl let out an oddly happy sigh. Charlie sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments, staring at her friend. She just looked so freaking vulnerable. It was a little bit terrifying. What the hell had happened in this video store, because it was definitely more than either she or Jackson was saying. "Lydia, are you okay?" she whispered.

"I'm fine, monkey," Lydia mumbled, patting her on the hand. "You take such good care of me." And then she began to snore again. Not those light, sweet, musical snores that were seen as acceptable for girls. She was snoring like a hibernating bear. Charlie sighed and clapped her hands on her knees before standing up.

"Okay then."

She went about cleaning the house before Mrs. Martin got back—dumping the rest of the wine, cleaning the glasses, wiping up the spills. It was all done with within about fifteen minutes and Charlie jogged back up the stairs to check on Lydia one last time. She was still fast asleep and snoring peacefully. Charlie was about to turn and leave the room, when all of the sudden she heard a chiming noise. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for the point of origin, until they fell on Lydia's cell phone where it lay on the bed side table. Frowning slightly, Charlie picked it up and looked at the screen. It was a text message—one that Lydia had sent to herself. It was time stamped for just a few minutes after her phone call with Charlie had ended.

Charlie glanced between Lydia and the phone a few times. She really shouldn't be doing this. It was an invasion of privacy. She was taking advantage of a vulnerable moment to satisfy her own curiosity. That was not something good people do. She tapped her finger against the enter key a few times, never hard enough to actually push the button. Until she slammed it down.

It was a video file—cheap and pixilated. At first all she could see was the exterior of a building. Based on that fragment of a sign in the upper right hand corner of the screen it was the video rental store. That boring exterior shot didn't last long, though. Within milliseconds the glass front shattered and a monstrously huge, black creature came jumping through. Charlie inhaled sharply and almost dropped the phone. That was not a mountain lion. That was most definitely not a mountain lion.

Before any other thought had a chance to cross her mind, she heard the sound of a nearby car door slamming. Shit. Mrs. Martin had gotten home early. Charlie quickly shoved the phone in her pocket and ran down the stairs, barely reaching the side door before Mrs. Martin burst in through the front, calling out her daughter's name. Right, the cops had called her—of course the cops had called her. Quietly closing the door, Charlie jogged across the street to her own house. Charlie wasn't sure why she was sneaking out of the house-it wasn't like she was banned from the house or anything-but for some reason she felt like she was trespassing.

"Hey, Mel," she called out as she closed the front door behind her. "I'm back. I think I'm going to crash early. REM sleep is crucial to memory consolidation, so I should probably do some of that so I can actually remember all the chemistry crap I've been studying."

She was about to run up the stairs, but Mel appeared in the downstairs hallway wearing her pajamas and a robe, stopping her from reaching her destination. "How and Allison and Lydia?" she asked.

"They're both fine," Charlie said, shooting her a tight smile. That was two lies in one sentence—she didn't know how Allison was and Lydia was definitely not fine. "Allison just needed to gush about Scott some more and Lydia had to complain about Jackson. I'm getting both sides of the spectrum of boy drama. I'm really not sure which is more annoying. I mean, sometimes it feels a bit like Allison's happiness is mocking me and I don't like to talk to Jackson, let alone talk about him."

Charlie thought that her rambling was convincing enough, but a small frown formed on Mel's face. "Charlie, whose jacket is that?"

The words 'what jacket' were about to spill from her lips, but then Charlie looked down. She was wearing a brown jacket with a rough fabric that was rolled up at the sleeves and smelled like curly fries. Crap. In the commotion she had forgotten to give Stiles his coat back. "It's one of Jackson's," she lied quickly. "I got kind of cold at Lydia's so she lent me one Jackson left at her place."

"Why didn't she just give you one of hers?" Mel asked curiously. "You guys are the about the same size."

Charlie let out a snort that was actually partially genuine. "Are you kidding? You actually think that Lydia would lend me something of hers?"

To Charlie's relief, Mel snorted as well. "Good point," she said cheerfully. She began to walk back to the living room where she was watching 'The Daily Show', but then paused again. "Do you want some hot chocolate before you go to sleep?"

"No thanks," Charlie chirped back. "I'm good."

Mel nodded and disappeared through the door. Charlie waited like ten more seconds before throwing herself back up the stairs and into her room. She slid out of Stiles's jacket and threw it on her desk chair after grabbing Lydia's phone out of the pocket. She collapsed on her bed and scooted backwards until her back hit the wall. Taking a deep breath, she raised the phone to her face and summoned up the video file hitting the play button. Then again. And again.

Not a mountain lion. Definitely not a mountain lion. She had had her doubts from the beginning, but this clinched it. The body was too massive and the gait was all wrong. The way it was moving, it almost seemed as if it could alter between bipedal and quadrupedal—like it could stand up on two feet and walk away. And then there was the fur—it looked black and thick and rough. All of that though, it was all secondary. The part that terrified her, that chilled her to her bones—the part that made her understand why Lydia popped a few pills so that she could fall into a dreamless sleep. That part was the face.

The face was smooth and free of fur. What animal had a face like that? None that she could think of. Well, chimpanzees did, but that was not a chimpanzee. She couldn't make out the details of the face from the highly pixilated photo, but she could see the sharp, deadly looking fangs protruding from the snout. No, she couldn't call it a snout. The face was to smooth and flat to be a snout. But all of that could be written up to weird deformations on an existing creature. It was the eyes. They were unlike the eyes of any animal she had ever seen in her life. They were cold and burning all at once, shining with a red light that she could only describe as supernatural. Looking at the creature, she was looking at something that didn't make any sense. And that made everything else fall into place, but it didn't stop her stomach from tying itself into knots. She was caught somewhere between wanting to throw up and sigh with relief.

So this was it. This was the big secret. This was the thing that had been attacking people—Laura Hale, the bus driver, the video store clerk. This was the thing Stiles and Scott suddenly stopped talking about whenever she walked up to them in the hallways or at lunch, the reason they broke into bus yards in the middle of the night, why they were looking for the second half of that body.

Now Charlie knew why she hadn't been able to figure out what was going on in Beacon Hills. Whenever she thought about what was going on, she had used logic. Now she knew that logic couldn't be applied. There had been hints at it before—the tapetum lucidum, the five-digit claw marks, the weird, secretive behavior and freak-outs—but she had needed to be hit in the face with it for her to realize. This was something that defied logic, and that meant one of two things: either she was losing her mind or everything she thought she knew about the world she lived in was wrong. Charlie honestly wasn't sure which option she preferred.

She hit the play button and watched the video for what felt like the millionth time. A picture was worth a thousand words, right? But she still wasn't sure what this picture was trying to say. She thought she knew, but she couldn't be sure.

Tomorrow she would be sure. For now she was going to watch that video one more time.

**So there it is. The 'sort-of' reveal. Charlie isn't quite ready to drop the 'w' word yet, but she knows that there's something supernatural going on….Or at least she thinks she does. There's a little bit of doubt eating away at her until she gets confurmation (see what I did there? con-fur-mation?). And guess who she's going to yell at until she gets it?**

**SOUNDTRACK ADDITION: The song I would play when Charlie sees the video and has her realization is 'Can't Pretend' by Tom Odell.**

**Not sure how the realization went. I kind of wanted it to be a subtle 'oh, shit' moment. Also, I threw in a little reference there which I think some of you might recognize...Let's see who knows what I'm talking about!  
**

**Also, I published this at like 3am my time, so please forgive grammar mistakes.**

**Reviews are love! Please review to feed the muse.**


	13. Suspension of Disbelief

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to cat-afterlife, TameTheGhosts, Moonyong98, Isaac fan, ScornedxRose, alvirgil, taytayfanatical, Lojo2014o, easythrowaway, SuperSMA, VeeWillRockYou, Guests 1 and 2, LynnZann, Micaela M, bbymojo, Neffyl, Elise, and LifeIsARayOfSunshine for reviewing! And the super-huge-mega-awesome thank you to BrittWitt16, as always.**

**If you want to know more about Charlie—i.e. her sense of style—check out my polyvore account. If you want to see it just go to the polyvore website and search for the member it-belongs-in-a-museum.**

Chapter 13 – Suspension of Disbelief

To say that Charlie had a bad night's sleep would have been a lie. Not because she hadn't slept well, but because she hadn't slept at all. She had tried, but every time she closed her eyes for more than a few seconds she saw that face—or the little of it she could make out. She saw the teeth and the claws and those burning red eyes—it wasn't really a good recipe for peaceful dreams. Hell, it would have been worse than the one she had the night before where Mr. Harris lit her on fire with a Bunsen burner. Typically Charlie's dreams didn't take all that much interpreting. Her subconscious generally just came out and said what it wanted to say. It could be really douchey about it too.

Needless to say, there was no REM sleep involved in her night. She spent all of the dark hours sitting up in her bed, her laptop perched precariously on the edge and going through the 'Weird Shit' file. The 'Weird Shit' File was a new addition to her extra-curricular activities. It was a fairly self-explanatory hobby she had developed recently. She had started it when she got to Beacon Hills. Well not immediately after, but as soon as all of this stuff started going down it had become a bit of a side project. All of the inexplicable, X-Files level crap went into a file. It had all of the photos with the weird lens flares around the eyes, those pictures she had snapped of the bus after it had been ripped to shreds, and now she could add something else to the pile of weird.

Charlie had downloaded the video footage from Lydia's phone to her computer so that she could expand the picture to something more visible and went through it frame-by-frame to see if maybe there was something she had missed after the first thousand viewings. It gave her a better understanding of the creature's gate and stance, but the photo itself just got more blurry. She wasn't tech-savvy enough to include the resolution all that much more—she couldn't create more pixels or turn those amorphous blobs into the tufts of fur she could only assume they were.

Most of the evening had consisted of her obsessively flipping through the photos, still trying to come up with an explanation for all of it that made some sort of sense. Though she had acknowledged that what she was looking at was outside of the normal day-to-day, her brain was still kind of rebelling against the idea of the supernatural. Charlie had never been one to believe in astrology or Ouija boards or anything like that. She had been the six-year-old who figured out that Santa didn't exist because they didn't have a chimney, and then proceeded to not tell her dad so she could con some more gifts out of him. Anyways, the point was that she always believed in things that she could see and she could touch. Now though…..now the things she was seeing were pretty unbelievable. But by the time morning broke, she had a plan. Well, not so much a plan—it was more of a stratagem, really. And it involved getting Stiles and Scott to spill every single minute detail.

Slowly the sky turned from black to that washed out gray of the early morning, the different shades marking the time as it ticked by at a slow, agonizing pace. When the light, glowing yellow started to peek out Charlie heard Mel start to stir in her room down the hall. She immediately snapped her laptop shut and shoved it under the bed before shimmying down under the covers. If Mel found her awake at that hour, she would definitely know something was up. Usually trying to get Charlie to wake up in the mornings was a bit of a fight. Instead she lay there, snuggled up in the covers, for the thirty minutes before her alarm started blaring like the horn that goes off when the nuclear core of a submarine is about to melt down.

When that moment came, Charlie threw off the covers and hauled herself out of bed. Her body felt kind of heavy with the exhaustion, but her mind was still wide awake. Maybe it was still the last vestiges of adrenaline in her veins from the night before, but really she felt like her brain was just….on. After showering, she dressed quickly, blindly groping around in her closet in a way that would probably make Lydia cringe. Eventually she ended up with black-and-white striped oversized sweater and a pair of jeans and threw on a pair of combat boots and a chunky gold necklace. The outfit came together with her usual lackadaisical fashion, but she actually took a great deal of care with her makeup—dabbing on the coverup underneath her eyes to mask the purple bruising color the lack of sleep had caused. After finishing up with the last bit of eyeliner, Charlie took a step back and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked just the same as she had the day before. Sometimes she liked to think that if you knew a secret, it would show—there would be some sort of external manifestation of that knowledge—but nothing had changed.

After deeming herself appropriate for school, she shoved all of her things into her bag, grabbed Stiles's jacket which she had inadvertently stolen, and jogged down the stairs. Mel was already in the kitchen, placing a platter filled with croissants at the center of the kitchen island, but Charlie made a beeline for the coffee pot and poured herself a huge cup.

"Big day today," Mel chirped, looking poignantly at Charlie over the brim of her own coffee cup.

Charlie froze mid-sip. She swallowed heavily and coughed as the steaming brown liquid burnt the back of her throat. "What, um, what are you talking about?"

Mel raised her eyebrows in expectation. "Parent-teacher conferences?" she drawled out. "The night of the school year where I get to have one-on-one meetings with all of your teachers and find out exactly what they think of you?"

"Yippee," Charlie muttered, waving the hand not obsessively gripping her coffee cup in the air.

"So," Mel replied primly, leaning against the counter and taking another sip from her mug, "what can I expect to hear?"

"Oh, good things," Charlie said, nodding enthusiastically and grabbing a croissant from the plate. "_So_ many good things. All my teachers have already offered to write me recommendations for college. I've made quite the impression."

Mel let out a loud snort. "Is that the case?"

"It most certainly is," Charlie mumbled through a mouthful of flaky pastry goodness. "It surprised me too. Especially with all the mouthing off I've done in Mr. Hobson's class."

A serious expression crossed Mel's face as she pushed herself up off the counter, taking a step towards Charlie. "You've been mouthing off in Mr. Hobson's class?"

Charlie winced theatrically and bit down on her lip. "I was really hoping I'd be able to slide that one in with the joke," she said, snapping her finger and pointing in Mel's direction.

"Yeah, I bet you were," Mel said through a soft snort.

Charlie grabbed another croissant and slung her bag over her shoulder before heading to the door. "You heading out already?" Mel called after her.

"Yeah," Charlie called back. She grabbed her leather jacket from where it hung on a peg near the door. "I figured I'd get there bright and early and be _super_-polite all day long. Maybe I'll pick up a bag full of apples to give them before class. You know, soften them all up and make them love me before they talk to you."

Mel smirked widely, moving into the main hall and leaning against the doorframe as she watched Charlie go. "You'll probably need something a lot better than apple if you want that big of a shift in opinion."

Charlie paused with her hand on the door handle, pursing her lips in consideration. "How about a shot of whiskey?" she asked drolly. "Do you think that'll help?"

Mel snapped her fingers and pointed at the door. "Get out of my house."

"You got it."

Charlie stepped out of the house and threw her things in the back seat of her Impala before crossing the street and moving towards Lydia's house. She felt a little apprehensive as to what she might find there. Last night Lydia hadn't been in that great of a place. That much was clear from the beginning, but never more so than when she was sitting in Charlie's car and staring at the empty house. Lydia was used to being alone since her parents were never around—it didn't bother her at all. But last night she didn't want to be alone. That's why she had insisted on girl's night in and watching 'The Notebook'. She wasn't somebody who would actually admit needing someone else because she was used to relying on herself. Seeing Lydia vulnerable like that wasn't something Charlie was comfortable with, so as the walked up the front steps to the door of the Martin household, she braced herself for what she might find inside.

After three loud knocks, the front door opened to reveal a perfectly coiffed Mrs. Martin. She blinked in surprise when she saw Charlie on the other side of the door, which was probably to be expected. Charlie could count on both her hands the number of times she had met Mrs. Martin and on one hand the number of times she had actually spoken to the woman. The woman cocked her head to the side and looked at Charlie curiously. "Um, hello. It's Charlotte, right?"

"Hey, Mrs. Martin," Charlie mumbled, giving her an awkward wave. "I was wondering if Lydia needed a ride in to school this morning. Seeing as her car is currently in the middle of a crime scene and all that."

Mrs. Martin's mouth hung open for a moment and she glanced over her shoulder at the empty hallway behind her. She cleared her throat and plucked nervously at the string of pearls around her neck. "I don't think Lydia will be coming into school today," she said carefully. "After yesterday's…..incident she just isn't feeling up to it."

"Yeah, totally," Charlie murmured. "Do you think I could go in and see how she's doing? If you think she's up for it."

A slight frown tugged at Mrs. Martin's lips and she glanced over her shoulder again. "I, um, I think that should be alright. Though I should warn you, she's still a bit shaken up and might have taken something to calm her nerves. She was a little….stressed this morning. She had some trouble sleeping."

With a nod and a wan smile, Charlie stepped past the threshold and wound her way through the house. The door to Lydia's room was cracked open slightly and there was music spilling out. Charlie rapped her fingers against the door three times before pushing it open. Lydia was sprawled out on her bed, her head propped up on one of her hands while the other one was reaching out and playing with the stuffed giraffe that was sitting on her bedside table. Charlie cringed slightly when she saw not one, but two bottles.

"Hey, Lydia," Charlie said in a loud whisper. "How's it going?

Lydia rolled over and blinked in her direction, like she was trying to focus on something far away. When she finally did focus on Charlie's face, a slow, silly smile spread across her face. She waved her hand in Charlie's direction. "You're blurry." Lydia patted on the bed indicating for Charlie to sit. "Come over here."

Charlie snorted lightly and sat on the edge of the bed, and a flicker of recognition slowly creeped onto Lydia's face. "Hey there, Charlie," she said, slowly patting her on the arm. "Where did you go? I was looking for you earlier."

"I went back to my house," Charlie replied. "Sorry I didn't say a proper goodbye on the way out but you were….well, you were kind of unconscious."

"Was I?" Lydia murmured quietly. "Hm." She reached up and began playing with Charlie's loose hair. "Your hair looks like black licorice. It's pretty."

Charlie removed Lydia's hand from her hair but kept hold of it, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Lydia, are you okay?"

That silly smile on her face grew a whole lot wider. "I'm fannnnnnnntastic," she drawled out. She withdrew her hand from Charlie's and held it up to the lamp, letting the light pour through the gaps of her fingers, and giggled a bit. "Light is pretty."

"You bet it is," Charlie murmured. She shoved her hands into her pockets and he fingers wrapped around Lydia's cell phone that she had shoved in there before she left. "Lydia, what do you remember from yesterday?"

Lydia looked at Charlie like she was a complete idiot, a look which she apparently could execute stoned just as well as she could do sober. "We had girls' night in and watched 'The Notebook'," she replied bluntly.

"Yeah," Charlie drawled out hesitantly. "Yeah, I was there for that part. I was talking about the bit I wasn't there for. The bit at the video store. What did you see there? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but if you wanted to…."

All of the sudden a dark shadow crossed Lydia's face and something behind her eyes changed. "It was a mountain lion," she mumbled almost incoherently, inspecting her fingers.

"What?" Charlie pressed on.

Lydia rolled over on her and looked up at Charlie with wide, innocent eyes. "A mountain lion," she said, this time more insistently.

Charlie sucked in a sharp breath. Last night the cops, the EMTs, even Jackson had insisted that the animal last night had been a mountain lion. Now, with all the drugs in her system, Lydia had probably believing what they were saying more than what she was seeing. "Are you sure about that?" Charlie prompted one last time.

"A mountain lion," Lydia repeated again.

Almost involuntarily, Charlie's hand moved into the pocket of her leather jacket and curled around Lydia's phone which she had shoved there earlier that morning. The way she say it, she had two options. The first was to delete the video. That way Lydia would continue to think of what she saw as some freakish hallucination. Then it would be a blip, a traumatizing part of her life that she could be over and done with, even if the fear and self-doubt might linger a little. The second was to show her what she had seen, but that meant that she could be confronted by the fact that that creature—the one that drove her to put herself into a coma—was actually real. And now Charlie had the choice. That was just way too much pressure.

Charlie looked back at Lydia for a second. She was still talking, but mentally she was totally incoherent. If she was going to tell Lydia, now definitely wasn't the time. And that gave her more time to weigh the options and make a choice. Sighing heavily, she patted Lydia on the shoulder. "Get some sleep, Lydia. I'll come back and check on you after school. You can borrow my notes if you need them, but we bother know that won't be necessary."

Lydia rolled over again, burying her face into the pillow. "Thanks, Charlie," she mumbled. "Always taking care of me."

Charlie let out a bitter laugh and pulled the phone out of her pocket, staring at it for a moment. "I'm not so sure about that."

This time she tucked the phone into the back pocket of her jeans before standing up and moving to leave Lydia's room. She paused at the doorframe and glanced back at her friend one last time, only to find her snoring again. She bit down hard on her lip before running down the stairs and out the door to her car. Damn. She really hated the position she was in right now with all of the lying to Mel and making decisions for her friends that it really wasn't her right to make. But something told her that she would have to get used to it—that she was going to be in this position for a while.

By the time Charlie pulled into the parking lot at Beacon Hills High School, it was already filling up with cars. So much for the early arrival she had promised to Mel. Charlie went to her locker and shoved away the books for her afternoon classes, as well as Stiles's jacket which she was determined to return at the most strategic time. She winced when her eyes fell on the chemistry book. It was a good thing she had started studying early for that hellish exam tomorrow, because she didn't really see herself getting all that much studying done that day. Finally, she stood up straight and grabbed her messenger bag from the floor, slinging it over her shoulder. Then she turned to see Allison walking down the hallway, glancing around with a slightly paranoid expression on her face.

"Hey, Allison," Charlie called out, waving her over. Allison smiled hesitantly and walked over towards her.

Nodding in acknowledgement, Allison made her way over. "Hey, Charlie," she mumbled with a lot less enthusiasm than she typically did. "How's it going? I heard about what happened last night—how's Lydia holding up?"

Charlie just shrugged because she honestly didn't know how to answer that question. "Physically she's fine, but she's still freaked out over the whole thing."

"Well that's understandable," Allison murmured, chewing on her fingernails. "I don't know how I'd react to something like that."

Charlie pressed her lips together in a thin line and nodded. "Lydia will be fine. I mean, if anybody can get over that kind of thing it's her. She's way too stubborn not to." Allison nodded in agreement as well, but then Charlie was distracted by the pendant hanging around her neck. It was silver and antique, with an imprint of a snarling wolf and what looked to her to be arrows. "What's that," she asked, gesturing at the necklace. "It's beautiful."

Allison smiled again, this time genuinely, and picked the locket up to stare at it a bit herself. "You like it?" she inquired happily. "My aunt Kate gave it to me this morning as a—" She froze mid-sentence and her eyes flicked from the necklace to Charlie. They were wide, like she had revealed too much, and Charlie folded her arms across her chest and raised her eyebrows expectantly. Allison groaned and scratched at the back of her head nervously before continuing. "It's—it's kind of my birthday today."

A small line appeared between Charlie's eyebrows as they furrowed together in a frown. "You really should have told me Allison," she muttered. "I would have gotten you someth—oh, wait as second." She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, poorly wrapped box. She gaped at it in mock shock. "What's this? It seems to have your name on it. What could it possibly be?" A small snort forced its way out of Allison's nose as she snatched the small package from Charlie's waiting hand. "Sorry it wasn't wrapped any better," Charlie continued. "I'm a little bit terrible at those kinds of things."

Allison spun the box around in her fingers a few times before shooting Charlie a suspicious look. "How did you know?"

"I really thought you guys would have figured it out by now," Charlie said through a loud scoff. "I know everything." The suspicious look on Allison's face morphed into one of skepticism, making Charlie roll her eyes in response. "Okay, fine. Lydia's the one who knows everything about everything, but she tells me about all of it so it's basically the same thing. Go on, open it."

After a few seconds of consideration, Allison ripped into the mediocre packaging, glancing around the two of them self-consciously, and quickly shoved the decorative paper into her pocket before turning to the tiny box within. She opened it to reveal a necklace and then hooked a finger under the chain, lifting it up until it was dangling in front of her face. "Oh my God," Charlie, she whispered through a growing smile. "It's gorgeous."

At the end of the long silver chain she was holding, there was a pendant of a silver bow and gold arrow backed by a jet crystal. "When we were at dinner you're aunt mentioned that you were a fan of archery," Charlie said, gesturing at the necklace. "Technically it's a Sagittarius-themed pendant, but I figured you would like it anyway."

"Yeah," Allison said, laughing slightly. "Yeah, I definitely like it."

"Happy birthday, Allison," Charlie said warmly.

As soon as the words left Charlie's mouth, Allison started getting skittish again, tugging at the ends of her hair and glancing around like she expected snipers to jump out of the lockers and start shooting at her. "Listen," she whispered conspiratorially. "Do you mind keeping it to yourself—the fact that it's my birthday. I really don't want people to know."

Charlie frowned slightly. "Why not."

Allison cringed a bit. "I'm seventeen."

"Oh," Charlie said. "Okay then."

A confused expression crossed Allison's face. "You're not going to ask me why I repeated a year?"

Charlie snorted and slammed her locker door closed. "Did I ever tell you that I had to go to summer school twice to keep up with the changes in curriculum between schools? My dad was in the Coast Guard, remember? A lot of moving around. I get it."

"Right," Allison said with a sigh of relief. "Well will you still promise not to tell anyone else?"

"Absolutely," Charlie said with a definitive nod. "My lips are sealed." She mimed locking her lips together and threw away the imaginary key.

Allison let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you. Maybe we can get together for a small party near the end of the week when Lydia is feeling better. How does that sound?"

Charlie attempted to say 'any excuse for cake' while keeping her lips pressed together, but it ended up being more of a mumbling sound than anything else. Allison frowned in confusion. "What are you doing?" There was a bit more mumbling that roughly translated to 'I told you, my lips are sealed', and Allison, realizing what was happening, rolled her eyes. "Has anybody ever told you that you're a bit of an idiot?"

"Yes," Charlie said with a definitive nod. "It's one of my better personality traits if I do say so myself."

Allison rolled her eyes and groaned. "I bet you were one of those kids who actually enforced that whole 'jinx' thing when you were a kid."

"Absolutely I was," Charlie said, nodding soberly. "You can't give me that kind of power over another person and expect it not to go to my head."

The final warning bell rang and Allison sighed in frustration. "I've still got to drop by my locker," she mumbled brushing past Charlie on her way to her locker. "I'll see you in class."

"I'd be careful at your locker," Charlie called after her. "Lydia's a planner. She likes to leave booby traps."

"Good to know!" Allison shouted back.

Allison never made it to first period English class. The working theory was that she had been kidnapped by mole people and dragged into the sewers until the class filled completely and there were not one but two seats empty. Allison and Scott. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure this one out. They had ditched. And while Charlie would usually wholeheartedly approve of this sort of innocuous delinquency under normal circumstances it meant that one half of her explanation had walked out the door. She glanced over at Stiles and silently asked him where they were, and he just shrugged in response. Yup. They ditched.

Pouting slightly, Charlie kicked at the back of the chair in front of her. The person sitting in it wasn't all that pleased, but she really couldn't make herself care all that much. She had much bigger things on her mind. And those big things seemed to grow with every passing moment.

By the time chemistry class rolled around, Scott and Allison were still missing. And so was Jackson as a matter of fact. For all of that grandstanding and screaming at the cops, he was just as freaked out at Lydia was. Given his absence, she slid into the seat next to Danny and smiled.

"Hey, Danny," she said, smiling widely. "Long time no see. How has life been treating you?"

"Well, we've got a chemistry test tomorrow, parent-teacher conferences tonight, and a giant man-killing animal on the loose," he drawled out sarcastically. "So all-in-all I'm fantastic."

"Oh, Danny," Charlie said, patting him on the arm. "Just because you look too cute to be smart doesn't mean that you aren't smart. You'll survive that chemistry test. And just look at those biceps! If any giant animals attack you, then you can just flex them to death."

Danny gave her a really strange look for a few moments before shaking his head. "Why is it that every time we talk, I feel like you're hitting on me?"

"Oh, because I am," Charlie replied primly, nodding her head enthusiastically. "You're a no-stakes target. It makes for good practice."

"So I'm just a slab of meat to you?" he asked in an amused tone.

"Only when you're not talking," Charlie replied with a smile. "Any time you want to discuss literature or the latest tech-y stuff you're so good at, that's when I look at you all I will see is a giant brain, leaking extracerebral fluid all over the place."

"So you'll always objectify me?" Danny asked, trying to contain his laughter. "I just have to choose between whether I want to be physically or intellectually objectified?"

"Now you're getting it," she said drolly, patting him on the arm again. "And speaking of that giant brain of yours, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor."

Danny eyed her suspiciously. "That depends on what the favor is," he responded.

"Do you not trust me, Danny?" she asked raising her eyebrows at him.

"No," he said through a snort. "Not even a little bit."

"Well that hurts my feelings just a little bit."

"Wait, you have feelings? I thought you were a robot that ran on sarcasm and the tears of small children." Charlie scoffed and smacked Danny in the chest, making him start laughing. "Okay, fine. What's the favor?"

"I was wondering if you could teach me about video editing," Charlie said as casually as possible. "You know, improving video resolution, splicing, that kind of thing."

Danny gave her a weird look and frowned slightly. "Why do you want to learn about that?"

Charlie blew out a long breath and shrugged. "Mel found a bunch of old home videos," she lied quickly. "I was thinking about restoring them, maybe cutting out the bits that are just arty shotes of trees that end up being incredibly boring. I thought I'd give it to her for her birthday when the time rolls around. She's the nostalgic type."

"Okay," Danny agreed, nodding a bit. "Sure. How about some time next week."

Charlie fought back the frown that threatened to form on her face. Sooner was better than later, but she just smiled in gratitude and said thank you. Then a serious expression suddenly crossed Danny's face. "You picked Jackson and Lydia up from the vid—from where it happened, right?" he asked, his voice dropping into a tone that communicated concern. "Do you know what happened? Jackson isn't really talking to me."

Charlie frowned in concern. She wasn't used to hearing Danny that serious. "Yeah. Yeah I picked them up but I didn't really get to see anyth—" She was cut off as the last bell rang and Mr. Harris turned from his chalkboard, the universal signal telling them all to shut the hell up. A few seconds before he started speaking, Stiles practically exploded through the door, looking like he was about to collapse to the floor, and finally scrambling to his feet before sitting at the seat directly behind her and Danny. Both of them glanced over their shoulder to give him a weird look, and he gave them an odd wave in response. Charlie lifted a hand to wave at him in turn, but before she could, Mr. Harris interrupted her. Quite rudely, in her opinion.

"Just a friendly reminder," he drawled out in that self-satisfied tone of his. "Parent-teacher conferences are tonight. Students below a C average are required to attend. I won't name you because the shame and self-disgust should be more than enough punishment." He paused next to Scott's empty desk and stared at his vacant seat. "Has anyone seen Scott McCall?"

He looked in Stiles's direction, no doubt about to verbally eviscerate him for his friend's absence, but before he could the sound of a door slamming shut reverberated through the classroom and everybody turned to see Jackson sneaking in late. For once he didn't look happy to have everybody's eyes on him. Charlie straightened in her chair and frowned to herself. With all of his hostility and angry shouting, she had failed to realize just how shaken up he was by the whole thing. He looked like he had slept less than she had, and she hadn't slept at all. His eyes were red and his skin was pale and clammy, and he slipped into the nearest seat and stared straight in front of him, like he was trying to block out the rest of the world. Shit. This was the first time she had ever regretted snapping at him.

Harris walked over to Jackson and put a comforting hand on his shoulder—something Charlie never thought she would see—and leaned in slightly to talk to him. "Jackson," he said in a low, placating tone, "if you need to leave early for any reason, let me know."

But by the time Harris had straightened back to his full height, be was back to being the tiny little dictator. He walked up to the chalkboard and stared at it. "Everyone, please start reading chapter nine. And yes anything covered in the class today will be included on your test tomorrow." There was the general sound of books opening, and then Harris spoke again.

'Please'. At this point the sound of the word itself almost made her laugh. Charlie often wondered why Mr. Harris ever bothered using the word 'please'. It was obvious that he was never asking a question, so why did he even bother using the word at all? She spent the first few minutes of the period diligently studying the notes she had made on the chapter a few nights previously while Mr. Harris looked over their shoulders.

"Isn't the point of having a teacher having a person who will actually explain the material to as opposed to watching us read it?" she muttered under her breath, taking a few sidelong glances at Danny. "Harris isn't a teacher. He's a drill sergeant with a laser pointer."

"Shut up before he tries to blind one or both of us with that laser pointer," Danny hissed back.

The two of them began to work in silence for a while. Honestly, it was probably a good thing. She wouldn't really have been able to study if there wasn't somebody breathing down her neck. But even with Mr. Harris glaring at them all, she still had trouble. On more than one occasion she found herself sketching that angry, contorted face in margins of her textbook. Then, all of the sudden, somebody appeared over her shoulder, casting shadows over the text and making her jump.

"Ms. Oswin," Harris drawled out in that unique passive aggressive, sarcastic tone of his. "While we are all blown away by your mediocre artistic capabilities, this is chemistry class. We do chemistry in chemistry class. If that is enough for pubescent brain to grasp."

Charlie bit down hard on her lip to silence herself. If she mouthed off in this class, any sense of satisfaction she would get from the look on Harris's face would be dearly paid for with detentions and marked down grades. Mr. Harris continued to patrol the room walking up and down the hallways with his hands clasped behind his back. It was like he was actively trying to look like a prison warden.

"Mr. Stilinski," he called out. "Try putting the highlighter down between paragraphs. It's chemistry, not a coloring book."

Danny began laughing a little bit and Charlie elbowed him in the side before glancing over her shoulder and shooting Stiles an apologetic look. He just grinned back, the highlighter cap still stuck in his mouth. He threw his head back and blew the cap a few feet in the air before easily catching it. Charlie snorted at the pleased expression on his face and turned back to her textbook. Her diligent studying didn't last long, though, because a few moments later she was interrupted by one of Stiles's not-so-subtle whispers.

"Hey, Danny," he muttered, "can I ask you a question?"

Danny immediately tensed up in irritation and rolled his eyes. "No."

Stiles gaped at him for a moment, considering possible responses before barreling on. "Well I'm going to anyway—um, did Lydia show up in her homeroom today?"

"No," Danny said through an audible sigh.

"Lydia's taking a personal day," Charlie hissed back, catching Stiles attention. "She's still a little freaked out about yesterday." Stiles looked completely stricken by that news, maybe even more so than she was. Oh, right. He was in love with her. That tended to give rise to emotional involvement in other people's welfare. "Hey," she whispered, shooting him a weak smile and looking at him pointedly. "Lydia's going to be fine. She just needs a little bit of time."

Stiles pressed his lips together in a thin line and nodded, leaving her to turn back to her chemistry assignment. "Can I ask you another question?"

"The answer's still no," Danny relied, his annoyance mounting.

"Does anyone know what happened to her and Jackson last night?"

Danny and Charlie both turned away from their books, shooting each other a sidelong glance. They both had the same answer—neither Jackson nor Lydia had said a word. But that didn't mean that Charlie didn't know, and this time she was keeping what she knew to herself. It would be leverage for her to find out what Stiles knew. Danny cleared his throat and went back to highlighting the chapter. "He wouldn't…he wouldn't tell me."

Stiles turned to Charlie and she shook her head to indicate the negative as well. He gaped a bit, glancing back and forth between the two of them. "But they're like your best friends."

"Doesn't mean they felt like sharing," Charlie muttered under her breath, not bothering to turn around this time.

"One more question," Stiles persisted.

"What?!" Danny exclaimed loudly, clearly on his last nerve.

"Do you find me attractive?"

Charlie made a face and turned around to find Stiles staring intently Danny. She rolled her eyes and slammed her head against the open textbook. He was still on that? He seriously needed to work on his priorities. All of the sudden there was a loud crashing noise behind her and she jerked her head off the table to see that Stiles had pretty much fallen out of his seat leering at Danny, and she slammed her head into the textbook for the second time.

After another passive aggressive scolding from Mr. Harris, the rest of the class period was spent studying. When the lunch bell finally rang, Charlie let out a small sigh of relief. Finally she could get around to 'the stratagem'. Most of the class practically sprinted out of the room to get to the lunch room, but she turned the opposite way down the hallway to stop by her locker. She grabbed the coat Stiles lent her and went to shut the door to her locker, only to find somebody standing directly behind it.

"Son of a bitch!" she shouted, practically jumping out of her skin. She clapped a hand over her heart and took a deep breath before looking up to find herself face-to-face with the perpetually sour-faced Derek Hale. She groaned loudly and stomped one of her feet against the ground like a child. "Well isn't this just fan-freaking-tastic," she spat, gesturing at him. "Now I've got to deal with you too? FYI, if this is a 21 Jump Street situation you're doing a really crap job of blending in with the rank and file. Try brooding less—throw the word 'dude' into the conversation."

"You were at the video store last night," he said simply, interrupting her. "You were talking to the cops. What did you see?"

She wrinkled her nose and looked at him suspiciously. "why do you care?"

Derek took a step towards her, making her take a step back. "What. Did. You. See."

"Nothing," Charlie spat back defensively.

"Say it again," Derek growled. "Only this time more calmly and more slowly."

"I wasn't there for the attack," Charlie replied, enunciating very carefully and sarcastically. "I showed up afterwards. And I ask again—what is it to you?"

Derek stared at her for a moment with a look of consideration before brushing past her, his shoulder knocking into hers as he walked. Charlie scoffed and rubbed at the point where he hit her, glaring at his leather-clad back. "You know there's a real disconnect in the 'question-and-answer' aspect of our encounters!" she shouted at him as he left. He didn't respond, though, leaving her glowering at him. At least this time, even though he wouldn't answer her questions, she had a decent idea as to why he kept asking his. And right now her curiosity was satisfied enough to not be entirely pissed off by his complete dismissal of her.

By the time Charlie got to the lunch room, the room was filled and the lunch line had dwindled, allowing her to pass through it quickly. She scanned the room looking for Stiles until her eyes found him sitting at his usual table, only this time he was without his conjoined twin and reading out of what was probably a chemistry book. Charlie marched in his direction and plopped her tray down opposite him. Stiles looked up at her suddenly, blinking at her in surprise. "Hey, Charlie," he said in a tone of confusion. "How's it going?"

"Pretty good," she said, taking a seat. She pulled his jacket out from under her arm and held it out to him. "I figured I should give this back to you. I guess I kind of ran off with it last night. Sorry about that."

Stiles snorted and waved his hand dismissively before taking it from her. "Please. You had other stuff to think about. I'm pretty sure everybody did."

Charlie gave him a wan smile and began stabbing absently at the canned peaches that served as her 'federally mandated serving of fruit' for the day. "So where's your better half?" she asked, waving a fork in his direction.

"You mean Scott?" he asked casually. "He's currently ditching with Allison." Then he looked up at his peas and squinted at her with a slightly offended expression. "Wait, what do you mean 'better half'?"

"Ditching on the day of parent-teacher conferences," Charlie drawled out, ignoring his mini-outburst. "That's pretty ballsy. That sort of truancy could land you in some serious trouble."

Stiles snorted loudly and raised his eyebrows at her in amusement. "Truancy?"

"Yeah," Charlie replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "Truancy. You know, the illegal ditching of compulsory education. Skipping class. Playing hookey."

"Yeah, I know what it means," Stiles said, laughing lightly. "I've just never heard it used in conversation before by someone under the age of like seventy-five."

Charlie stopped chewing on her peaches and narrowed her at Stiles. "Are you saying that I'm not down with the lingo of today's urban youth?" she demanded, raising an eyebrow at him.

Stiles snorted into his plate and shook his head. "Has anybody ever told you you're an idiot?"

"Says the guy that fell out of his chair asking a gay guy if he was attractive," she smirked back. "Danny's way out of your league by the way."

Stiles gaped at her, looking highly offended. "What are you talking about?" he said, throwing his arms out wide. "I'm adorable."

"Sure you are," Charlie said, snorting into her plate.

"Hey!" Stiles shouted back. "I totally am!"

The two of them fell into a short silence. Somewhere inside of those ten seconds, a cloud descended over them and they seemed to remember all of the serious and severely un-funny things going on at the moment. Stiles's eyes flickered between her and his plate a few times before he could summon up the courage to ask her the question he really, really wanted to ask.

"So what's going on with Lydia?" he mumbled in the most innocuous way possible.

Charlie bit down on her lip and sighed before answering. For some reason she felt guilty being the one to tell him of Lydia's not-so-fantastic status. "After the…incident she was pretty shaken up. We watched 'The Notebook' and she got kind of drunk, but she didn't tell me anything about it. She's not exactly a 'sharer'. The only person who can answer any questions about how she's really doing is her."

He nodded in understanding and gazed off into the distance. Seeing his wistful, concerned expression, Charlie figured that this would be the best time to say what she had meant to say. "Hey, Stiles," she said tentatively, making him look up at her. "I actually think that there is something that might help."

His eyes widened to almost a theatrical degree and he dropped his fork on his tray before clearing his throat and trying to look calm. "What, um, what is it?"

Charlie jerked her head to the side in a nonchalant way and shrugged. "I mean it's probably nothing. I just remembered that when I was on the phone with Lydia—before she and Jackson were attacked—she had me on speaker phone and was taking pictures of herself. She's been a bit out of it lately so she might not remember, but I just thought that maybe she could have a photo of something on her phone. Something that might help out the cops. You're dad said to tell him if I remembered anything, so I figured I should let you know."

A look of extreme concentration crossed Stiles's face, like he was a robot assimilating new information. Charlie was suddenly very aware of the presence of Lydia's phone in her back pocket, but didn't mention it. Instead she kept a close watch on Stiles, gauging his reaction. "That's good to know," he said, finally looking at her and nodding frantically as he did so. "That could be a real help. If she got a usable picture, I mean." He grabbed his drink and took a long sip from it, glancing around suspiciously like he was afraid that someone had over heard them. Charlie blew out a long breath and sat back in her chair, looking at him expectantly.

"Well aren't you going to call anybody?"

Stiles swallowed heavily and then began coughing up the soda. "Why—why would I need to call anybody?" he demanded in a shifty-sounding tone. "Who would I call?"

Charlie fought back the victorious smirk covering her face. "Your dad?" she prompted. "You might want to call the guy who requested the information in the first place."

A nervous laugh burbled out of Stiles's throat and he nodded. "Right. Of course. My dad." He pulled out his phone and punched in a number before pressing it to his ear. Charlie watched the screen carefully and, as expected, the contact he dialed didn't read 'Dad' or 'Sheriff Stilinski'. It read 'Scott'. She pretended not to notice the difference as Stiles held up a finger, indicating for her to wait. The phone kept ringing and ringing, long enough for it to go to voicemail. "Hey….pops," Stiles drawled out finally. "I'm at lunch with Charlie and she might have a lead for us—you. We—you should check out Lydia Martin's phone for pictures. She might have something on there that could help out with what happened last night. Okay. See you tonight. Parent-teacher conferences. Yay. Okay, then."

He hung up the phone and slammed it on the table a little harder than necessary, and then proceeded to smile a little wider than necessary. And Charlie smiled back just as widely. And they both kept smiling at each other, neither one of them willing to admit defeat or indicate any crack in the façade they were putting up. By the time the lunch bell rang, Charlie was feeling thoroughly satisfied with herself. She had managed to plant that seed in his mind, and if her judgment of character was in any way accurate, by the time that school ended that day it would have grown into a freaking Amazonian forest.

The rest of the school day was fairly uneventful given the recently established standards of Charlie's life. She went to class, ignored the lecture, and then desperately pleaded with her neighbor for notes. Except for Coach Finstock's class. He talked so loud it was impossible to ignore him. All in all it was a typical day in high school. Only after the final bell rings, you typically pull out of the school parking lot with a feeling of excitement. This time as she backed her Impala out of its spot, she was overcome with a feeling of dread.

When Charlie pulled into her driveway at home, she saw exactly what she had expected to see—manicured lawns, beautiful flower gardens white-picket fences, and a blue Jeep parked in front of Lydia's house. She would have smiled to herself in celebration of her apparent psychic abilities, but she just couldn't. That celebratory part of her herself was equally matched by the self-disgust that accompanied her severe manipulation of the people she cared about. But this was the only way she could think of to get Stiles to admit the truth, and she needed to know the truth.

Charlie sat on the front steps of her porch with her chemistry notes open on her lap, and waited. She wasn't sure how long Stiles would be in Lydia's house, but she intended on being ready for him when he left. By her estimation it took about twenty minutes for him to emerge, a pinched expression of concern on his face. Upon seeing him, Charlie felt her stomach sink. An expression like that meant that Lydia was probably in about as good shape now as she was that morning. Meaning not so good. She knew that her first move should be to go and check in on her friend, but she was more selfish than that. As Stiles climbed into the driver's seat of his Jeep, focusing on nothing but his own thoughts, she darted across the street to approach him. Just as he was about to turn the key in the ignition, Charlie knocked loudly on his window, causing him to jump. After a look of extreme terror crossed his face, he seemed to regain his composure and reached across the passenger's seat to roll down the window.

"Hey Charlie!" he said in an overly enthusiastic voice as he smiled at her. "How's it going?"

Charlie just gave him a noncommittal shrug and jerked her head to the side before leaning on the window sill. "Been better," she replied casually. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" he repeated, obviously stalling to form some sort of logical answer. "I'm—well I'm here to check in on Lydia. After what you said today I just wanted to see how she was doing you know."

"Right," Charlie said with a curt nod. "How is she doing?"

Stiles let out a long sigh and shook his head. "She's pretty out of it."

"Yeah," Charlie replied through a bitter laugh. "I was hoping she'd be holding up better by now. This morning she told me my hair was pretty."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Stiles demanded, giving her a weird look.

Charlie raised her eyebrows in a sardonic expression. "Whether or not Lydia will freely and willingly compliment me on my hair or on any other aspect of my appearance is generally how I measure her degree of sobriety," she replied dryly. "The more inebriated she gets, the more presentable I become."

"Oh," Stiles said, nodding along with her words. He sighed heavily and drummed his fingers against his steering wheel, a serious frown forming on his lips. Charlie frowned in turn and reached in through the window to poke him in the shoulder. "Hey," she muttered, "what gives?"

"Nothing," Stiles said, waving his hand. "She just—she called me Jackson."

"Shit," Charlie muttered. "That sucks, man." She would have said something more, but there wasn't exactly a manual on how to behave in these situations and nobody had taught her the rules.

He just shrugged again. "Whatever."

"So that was the only reason you came?" Charlie prodded, raising her eyebrows at him. "You just came to check on Lydia."

Stiles shot her a confused look and nodded. "Yeah."

Charlie sighed heavily and nodded in turn. "Did you find everything you needed?" she asked, switching into a more serious tone.

"Y—yeah," Stiles responded, giving her a weird look.

There it was. The lie she had been waiting for him to drop. "Are you sure about that?" Charlie asked through a bitter snort before reaching into her pocket to pull out Lydia's phone. She quickly opened the video file and hit play, holding it up to Stiles's face. As he watched it, all the blood drained out of his face and his jaw dropped. Charlie took a bitter sort of satisfaction from his response. Once the video had played through, she shoved the phone back in her pocket and leveled Stiles with a serious look. He just stared back in wide-eyed horror.

"Th—that..that was—"

"Lydia's phone?" Charlie supplemented, raising her eyebrows at him. "Yes. Yes, it was."

"Y—you—"

"Set you up?" she interjected for a second time. "Yes, I did."

Stiles gaped at her, clearly at a loss for words. But that was fine, because she had plenty of them.

"Stiles," she said in a low, dangerous voice. "Why don't you come inside."

Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for a response. "I—I don't think—"

"It wasn't a suggestion," she growled in response, leveling him with a deadly glare. "Get in the house. Now."

Charlie glared at Stiles unblinkingly for about thirty seconds until he scrambled out of the car and began scuttling to her front door. She followed him taking long, angry steps until the both of them were inside and she slammed the door shut behind them. Stiles stared at her in confusion for a moment until she marched in the direction of the kitchen and he trailed after her, a semi-permanent wince etched onto his features.

"It's a really nice place," he laughed out nervously, waving his hand around.

Charlie ignored the obligatory compliment. "Sit," Charlie ordered, pointing at one of the stools at the kitchen island. Stiles did as she said and Charlie began to move around the kitchen, yanking bowls out of the cabinet and food out of the fridge while he looked at her in confusion.

"Wh—what are you doing?" Stiles asked finally, making her shoot yet another glare in his direction.

'What does it look like I'm doing, Stiles?" she snapped back. "I'm cooking. I cook when I get stressed out. And do you know what I am now?"

The wince on his face deepened. "Stressed out?" he suggested tentatively.

"Yes, Stiles!" Charlie almost shouted back. "I'm stressed!"

She stormed around the kitchen a little while longer, ignoring his eyes on her. "So…" Stiles finally drawled out, surveying all the supplies she had laid out. "What are you making?"

"Eggplant Parmesan," Charlie replied tersely.

"Really?" Stiles asked in a slightly excited tone. "Do you think I could get in on that? That's the best type of meal because you can pretend it's healthy when it's really covered in chee—" He was abruptly cut off when Charlie slammed a mixing bowl loudly against the counter.

"Stiles! Focus, please!"

"Right," he mumbled. "That's not why I'm here."

Charlie glowered at him for a few more moments before finally saying what she had been wanting to say for almost a month now. "Stiles," she bit out carefully, "you're going to tell me what's going on here."

"What do you mean?" he asked, doing his best to look ignorant.

"That's not going to work anymore," Charlie growled. "Not anymore. Not after what we both just saw on that phone. We can't just go walking around saying that it's a mountain lion anymore. I've suspected as much for a while, and we both know that you know better."

Charlie braced her hands against the counter and stared Stiles down, waiting for a response while his eyes roved around, looking for potential escape routes. She didn't get an answer. He didn't break. Stiles stayed silent, but his leg was bouncing up and down so quickly that she thought it might spontaneously combust, and she knew him well enough be that point to understand that he was fighting to keep quiet. After a few moments of intense glowering, Charlie exhaled sharply and pushed herself up from the counter.

"Fine," she said in an abrupt tone. "Fine, if you won't tell me what you know, then I'll tell you what I know. I know that a mountain lion isn't behind the animal attacks. I know that you and Scott are investigating the animal attacks—"

Stiles's head jerked up suddenly and was about to interrupt her—no doubt to ask her how she knew that—but she held up a hand, indicating for him to keep silent. "I saw your Jeep outside the bus yard after the bus driver was killed," she explained before continuing on. "I also know that Derek Hale keeps poking around the animal attacks. I know that the animal that has been attacking people is _not_ normal. And I know that Derek and Scott aren't fully human."

At those last words, Stiles twitched so violently he almost fell out of his chair. "How did you fi—I mean why would you go and say something like that? That's crazy talk, that is. Why would you—"

"It's not just me," she interrupted. "Jackson is pretty sure something's up too."

"Jackson's just upset that Scott's showing him up in lacrosse," Stiles stammered out.

"Jackson may be an idiot, but that doesn't mean he's stupid," Charlie shot back. "And he's not the only reason I think that." She ran up the stairs and grabbed her laptop from her room, placing it on the counter, turning it on, and opening up the 'Weird Shit' file. She pulled up a photo of Scott at Lydia's party and the shot she had taken of Derek that day at the gas station. "There," she said, pointing at Derek's and Scott's eyes. "You see that?"

"It's a bit of lens flare!" Stiles said, getting more and more anxious. "Who cares about that?!"

"It's not lens flare!" Charlie replied angrily. "_That_ is the reflection you get off the tapetum lucidum in flash photography!"

"What the hell is a tapetum lucidum!"

Charlie groaned loudly and ran her hands down her face. "It's the reflective part of the retina in animals that helps you see in the dark."

Stiles gaped at her for a moment before shaking his head in disbelief. "How do you know this stuff?"

"I told you I watch a lot of the Discovery Channel! Enough to know that people—they don't have tapetum lucidums. Only the most primitive of primate and other non-primate animals do. Now, Scott and Derek are the only two people I've ever seen with this abnormality. They're not related, hell I don't think they even met till a month ago! So go ahead Stiles! Explain this to me. Please. Because I'd love to have some sort of alternative scenario that doesn't make me think the things I'm thinking!"

He glanced between the photo of Derek and Charlie a few times. "Where did you get this picture?" he asked, pointing at the screen.

Charlie folded her arms across her chest defensively and shrugged. "I ran into Derek at a gas station. I asked him the same questions I'm asking you and took that picture to make a point."

Stiles gaped at her with an expression that looked to be equal parts anger and worry. "Charlie, you can't _do _that! I told you that Derek's a dangerous guy! You need to stay away from him!"

"And why is that, hm?" Charlie shot back with the same frustration. "Why should I trust you any more than I trust him? Neither of you are telling me the truth!"

The wild-eyed, worried expression of denial in Stiles's eyes faded away and was replaced by something resembling regret. His jaw tensed and twitched and he rubbed at his eyes in frustration, sitting back down on her stool. Sensing a change in the tone of the conversation, Charlie sat down as well, looking at him from across the kitchen island. Finally removing his hands from his face, he sighed and gave her an apologetic look.

"It's not my secret to tell."

Charlie's head sagged on her neck and she stared at her feet for a while before looking back up at Stiles. "It's not your secret to keep anymore either," she replied in a calmer, saddened tone. "My friends are getting hurt. I've seen that video. I've seen too many things that I can't explain. I'm already in this, whether you like it or not."

"It's dangerous," Stiles insisted.

"You think I don't know that?" Charlie said with a bitter laugh. "I know that it's dangerous, Stiles. But all those people who died? They weren't in on the secret were they? They didn't know a damn thing and they still ended up dead. Me knowing isn't going to make me any more vulnerable than they were."

Stiles and Charlie stared at each other silently for what felt like a really long time but was probably only seconds. But regardless of how long they were there, Charlie felt something change in her. That bubble of anger and frustration that had been growing inside her for the past few weeks popped, leaving her feeling hollow and deflated. She let out a long breath and her shoulders sagged as a sudden feeling of complete exhaustion washed over her. She lifted her head to look at Stiles again—but this time she wasn't demanding. She was pleading.

"Please, Stiles," she said in a voice that was almost a whisper. "Please. I need to know what's going on here. It's like I'm looking at a puzzle, and I have almost all the pieces put in place. The picture—it's getting clearer and clearer, but the clearer it gets, the less sense it makes. And the things I keep thinking….there's really only two options for me right now. Either I'm about to have my worldview completely overturned or I'm going totally batshit crazy, and I don't know which it is. Stiles, I really need someone to tell me which it is. You need to tell me which it is."

The only way to describe Stiles's appearance at that point was tormented. Charlie felt a gnawing guilt for putting him in that position, making him choose between loyalty to his friend and telling her the truth. But she already knew everything—or at least suspected everything. He wasn't telling so much as confirming. Still though, after it being just the two of them for all that time, sharing this with someone else was probably damn near impossible. Stiles groaned loudly, rubbing at the back of his head in a way that was almost pathological and looking anywhere but at Charlie. Then, finally he looked at her, his brown eyes boring into her blue ones, and they reached a silent sort of understanding. And then he said a single word.

"Werewolves."

**So there it is! The big reveal. Next chapter will have the reaction to the big reveal. I hope you guys liked it and that it was funny enough and that Charlie didn't seem too mean, but she was kind of reaching the end of the rope when it came to this stuff (questioning her own sanity and all that). I tried to throw a little more Danny in there for you guys, since other than Finstock he's one of my favorite secondary characters.**

**Here's the link to Charlie's gift to Allison if you want to see it:**

** . ?PRODUCT%3C%3Eprd_id=845524446404119&site_refer=AFF001&mid=13816&siteID=Hy3bqNL2jtQ-NJYbQmWPTNk7iYdpFo0cAw&LScreativeid=1&LSlinkid=10&LSoid=291251**

**Please review! Review are love, and make my oh-so happy!**


	14. Occam's Razor

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to prettyargents, ScornedxRose, LoTS-Fanatic, bbymojo, TameTheGhosts, cat-afterlife, VeeWillRockYou, Micaela M, easythrowaway, Guest, alvirgil, Tarafina, Dr Pantalons (awesome name), Sophie-Anne, Vee, SuperSMA, and LynnZann for reviewing. And of course big thanks to the gem of humanity that is BrittWitt16.**

**I'm sure you guys have already read about my polyvore account. Also, the song for back in Chapter 11 when Charlie finds Lydia's phone and sees the alpha for the first time (ie the end of that chapter) is 'Can't Pretend' by Tom Odell. I just figured I'd say that now, because I just realized how perfectly that song fits that scene. What do you guys think?**

Chapter 14 – Occam's Razor

That one word hung on the air, kind of echoing in Charlie's head while she and Stiles sat there in complete silence. The only thing they could hear was the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the other room. Tick, tick, tick. Charlie exhaled sharply and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to fully process what it was that had just been admitted. When she opened them again Stiles was looking at her with and insecure expression.

Charlie had thought that she would get some sort of satisfaction out of finally forcing the truth out of Stiles. She had thought that there would be some sense of finality to it, like a story coming to a close. She had thought that—oh, hell she had no idea what she had thought. That was always her problem. She would focus so much on a short-term goal that she would never really think about what came after. That was all fine and good when it came to tests and papers and that kind of thing, and those were the only things she had really had to deal with up until that point. This, though….this was no short term goal. This was not the end. In fact, this was very much the beginning. She had only just scratched the surface, and now she was getting a peek at what was underneath. And what was underneath had teeth and fangs.

"Werewolves," she repeated in a voice that was somewhere between a question and a statement of confirmation. Stiles's jaw tensed and twitched a bit, and then he nodded in response. "Werewolves."

Charlie sighed and rubbed at her eyes before running her hands through her loose hair, pulling at it slightly. She glanced back at Stiles again, narrowing her eyes at him to gauge the honesty of his answer. "Werewolves?"

"Yup," Stiles replied, popping the 'p'. "Werewolves."

After that, Charlie remained silent for a while, and the longer she was quiet, the jumpier Stiles seemed to get. Eventually he pulled out his phone and angrily punched in a number. "Hey, it's me again," he said to what she could only assume was Scott's voicemail. "Look, I found something—actually Charlie found something—and I don't know what to do. Things are—things are happening, man. Big things—" His eyes flicked to Charlie and he cleared his throat uncomfortably before continuing. "Things that you probably want to hear about so that you can then do something about them. So if you could turn your phone on right now, that'd be great. Or else I'll kill you. Do you understand me? I'm gonna kill you. And I'm too upset to come up with a witty description of how exactly I'm gonna kill you, but I'm just gonna do it. Okay? I'm gonna…argh! Goodbye." He chucked his phone onto the counter where it fell with a loud clattering noise and looked back at Charlie, waiting for her to say something.

Charlie shook her head, not in disbelief but in…..something. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, searching for something more substantial to say, but came up short. "Werewolves," she repeated again, muttering under her breath.

"No, hippogriffs!" Stiles snapped back in frustration, pushing himself up from his stool at the kitchen island and began to pace back and forth, waving his hands around wildly. "Yes, Charlie! Werewolves! There are a bunch of freaking werewolves, running around Beacon Hills and killing people! And he's probably going to kill a lot more people, unless somebody stops him!"

Stiles suddenly stopped pacing, breathing heavily from his outburst. He planted his hands on his hips and stared at the ground, like he was actively not looking at her. There was something odd in the expression on his face. It was torn between relief and worry—relief at finally being able to freely talk about something he'd kept bottled up for so long and worry at what her reaction would be. He lifted a hand to his mouth and began gnawing at his fingernails before glancing in her direction. "So isn't this the part where you tell me I'm crazy and throw me out of your house?" he asked, scratching at the back of his neck self-consciously. "I mean, aren't you going to say something?"

Charlie blew out a long breath and looked at the kitchen around her. Mixing bowls and cutting boards littered the counters and the almost-finished eggplant parmesan sat waiting next to the stove that had already reached the designated temperature. "I think I'm going to finish making dinner," she said simply, getting to her feet and continuing making the meal.

Stiles gaped at her and shook his head in disbelief. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

"You're welcome to have some," she said, opening the oven with the toe of her shoe and sliding the eggplant inside. "I mean, if you hang around until it's done."

"Okay," Stiles murmured in disbelief, "I tell you that Beacon Hills has been invaded by marauding, murder-y werewolves, and your response is—is to start cooking? That's it? We're done here?"

"Oh, we are nowhere near done here," Charlie shot back, brandishing a mixing spoon in his direction. "This conversation has only just started. I just figured that we might as well not be starving when we have it." She saw Stiles's eyes slide towards the oven and back to her before sniffing the air a bit, inhaling the smell. She folded her arms across her chest and raised an expectant eyebrow in his direction. "Do you want some or not?"

Stiles huffed and nodded reluctantly before sliding back into his seat. He picked up his phone and stared at the screen, desperately looking for contact from Scott. When he was once again confronted by a blank screen he slammed his forehead into the counter, letting out a loud groan. After a few moments he jerked his head from the table and gave Charlie a strange look.

"So….." he drawled out slowly, a hesitant look on his face, "you're saying that you believe me—the whole werewolves thing? Because it's kind of a big leap—I mean, like, huge. Like there's a Grand Canyon-sized hole you have to jump over before you actually bel—"

"Stiles, have you ever heard of Occam's Razor?" Charlie interrupted suddenly.

Stiles blinked in surprise and nodded. "Um, yeah," he mumbled. "My dad talks about it sometimes when he's trying to solve cases. Once you've eliminated the impossible the simplest answer left, no matter how unlikely it is, is pretty much always the one that's true. Something like that. But what does that have to do with anything?"

Charlie sighed heavily and sat down on the other side of the island, directly opposite Stiles. "My point is that since I got here, the bar for what's possible and what's impossible has kind of been completely overturned. Expanded. And if you look at all the separate pieces, werewolf is an explanation that ties it all together in a neat little bow. So yeah, Stiles, I believe you. Just like that."

His mouth dropped open slightly and he gaped at her for a moment before shaking his head in disbelief, which Charlie found strange because in this conversation she should be the one doing the disbelieving. She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the counter, scrunching up her face and shooting him a weird look. "What?" she demanded a bit hostilely.

"Nothing," Stiles said quickly, leaning back in his chair and grabbing his head in his hands. "It's just—I thought that if I had to have that conversation with someone…..I just saw it ending differently."

Charlie frowned. "Differently how?"

"Differently as in with the other person backing away slowly followed by running away screaming and then signing me up for electro-shock therapy."

Charlie snorted and smiled a bit. "Yeah, well Mel did tell me that it's rude to have your house guests committed."

"That's a good policy," he replied, smiling a bit as well. "You should keep that one up. Otherwise it might make for a pretty awkward dinner party."

"The Millers never did come over again," Charlie mused absently.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her, and then the two of them broke into a fit of laughter. It was a release, really, being able to laugh out loud after the heaviness and shouting of a few minutes ago. It didn't last long, though. Soon enough they were left with that same dilemma. What the hell were they going to do? But Charlie figured they should hold off on that until she had all the information in. And lucky for her she had a reservoir of information sitting across from her.

"So Scott and Derek are werewolves then," she said casually.

Stiles twitched and suddenly got really defensive. It must have been a reflex by that point. Deny, deny, deny. "Who says Scott—!" But he stopped talking immediately, realizing the futility of it. "Right," he muttered, gesturing at the picture that was still adorning the screen of her laptop and then gesturing at his own eyes. "You know because to the 'tapping leeches'."

"Tapetum lucidum," Charlie corrected.

"Whatever." He grumbled under his breath and wiped at his eyes. "I can't believe you know all this random crap."

"Everybody needs a hobby," Charlie said with a shrug. "So does this mean that Derek actually _is_ a creepy murderer person but they ruled it an animal attack because he was all….wolfed out when he did it? Did he actually kill his sister? I mean, it would explain why he buried her in the backyard, but why the hell would he do that?"

"It wasn't him," Stiles said, shaking his head. "Scott and I—we thought it was him at first. I mean, obviously since we got him arrested for it. Now we think it's someone else."

"Someone else?" Charlie asked quietly. Stiles just nodded in response, making her swear under her breath. "So there's a third one."

"Yup," Stiles said, a hint of bitterness working its way into his voice. "And it wasn't just Laura Hale. It was her, the bus driver, and now—"

"The clerk at the video rental place," Charlie finished for him. She reached over the counter and angled the computer towards her, summoning up the video footage that she had downloaded from Lydia's phone. She let it play through and then paused feed on an up-close image of the face. "So this—"

"Is the killer," Stiles finished for her.

Charlie wrinkled her nose at the contorted figure on the screen. "So this is what Scott and Derek turn into. I want to sign it up for a facial and a mani-pedi." She paused for a second as the words she had just spoken began to sink in. "Maybe I've been spending too much time with Lydia."

"That's not what Scott looks like," Stiles said. "He grows this—this hair on his cheekbones and gets these fangs and claws. It's freaky, but not that freaky. Plus his eyes are more of a yellow."

"Shit," Charlie mumbled to herself. "No wonder those lacrosse players thought he was on PCP."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Anyways," Stiles continued, pointing at the screen. "That's what Derek calls—"

"So you guys and Derek are all good now?" Charlie snorted out. "After you got him arrested for murdering his own sister?"

"Hey, we had a perfectly good reason for thinking that!" Stiles shot back defensively, getting a little bit agitated. "And can we focus here?! Seriously, I'm being all open and forthcoming and stuff. That window only stays open for so long before the shock fades and my better judgment kicks in and why am I telling you that right now?"

"Derek who?" she said suddenly, waving her hand to dismiss her previous statement. "Who cares about Derek? Derek is boring and uninteresting and uses way too much hair product and smells like an 18-wheeler full of Axe body spray turned over next to his house." She pointed at her computer screen. "Who is this asshole?"

Stiles shot her yet another weird look out of the corner of his eye before turning back to the photo on the screen. "Derek says that this thing is an alpha," he explained. "It's bigger, stronger, more powerful. That's why it has the red eyes."

"So that makes Scott and Derek what? Betas?"

"Son of a—" he exclaimed, looking over at her. "You really do watch a lot of the Discovery Channel, don't you?"

Charlie shrugged her shoulders and nodded. "That and I've got a basic understanding of the Greek alphabet." She turned back to the image on her computer. "So it's an alpha," she continued in a serious tone. "But that's what it is and not who it is. So who is it?"

"We don't know," Stiles almost shouted, gesturing wildly at the computer screen. He glanced at her, an apologetic frown on his face, before continuing. "That's actually what we're trying out. The alpha's the one that bit Scott and made him….Anyways we don't know who it is and until we know who it is we can't do anything to stop it!"

The last few words out of Stiles's mouth sounded a bit panicked, and he seemed to focus in on that image of the alpha, not looking at anything else. And that's when in hit Charlie. However freaked out or worried or curious she had been over the past couple of weeks, it was nothing compared to what Stiles and Scott had been going through. There was someone going around killing people, they had the most available information—and therefore the most responsibility—and when it came down to it, there was nothing they could do about it. Hell, his dad was a cop and he couldn't even share it with him. It must have been complete torture watching this massive crapstorm unfold. And now she was in on it too. Reaching across the counter, she clapped a comforting hand on his shoulder. He looked back at her, surprised by the gesture, but didn't shrug her hand off. Charlie gave him what she hoped was a comforting smile before continuing in her line of inquiry.

"So where do the Argents fit into all of this?" she asked, withdrawing her hand from his shoulder.

"Oh, come on!" he shouted, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. "How could you possibly know about that? I mean, are you psychic? Is that it? Because there is no way I can tolerate any more weirdness it the freaking hurricane of weird that is my life right now!"

Charlie shot him an admonishing look. "Stiles, shut up."

"You got it," he said giving her an awkward salute. But his silence only lasted about half a second before he exploded again. "Okay, how could you possibly know about the Argents?"

"I didn't," she replied honestly. "You just confirmed it for me." Before subjecting herself to another one of Stiles's frustrated tirades, she barreled on, explaining herself. "The other day when I saw Derek at the gas station, somebody broke in the window to his Camaro. There were three guys there and one of them was a tall, blonde guy driving a red SUV. The other day I go over to Allison's and there's a red SUV sitting in her garage and Mr. Argent—who kind of scares me, by the way—is both tall and blonde."

"Damn you and your logic," Stiles mumbled to himself. "As far as we can tell, the Argents are werewolf hunters. We know Mr. Argent is seeing as he shot Scott and all—long story, don't ask. We don't think Allison knows."

"I bet Kate wants her to though," Charlie muttered. "All that crap about liking a girl who could kick a little ass—"

"Wait, who can kick a little ass?" Stiles inquired.

"I can, according to Kate at least," Charlie said bluntly. She rolled her eyes at the dumbfounded expression on Stiles's face and continued. "I have like five or six years experience in Krav Maga. My dad signed me up for it as soon as I showed the first signs of hitting puberty. He used to call it his 'insurance policy' whatever the hell that means. But that's not important. Allison's got like eight years gymnastics and knows a hell of a lot about archery. She might not be in on the secret yet, but she sure as hell is being groomed for it."

Stiles groaned loudly and slammed his head against the counter again. "Could this get anymore complicated? First Scott's a werewolf and now he's sleeping with the enemy." He paled slightly and glanced at Charlie self-consciously. "Well not sleeping with per se….I mean, they're not—I mean as far as I know they haven't—"

Charlie rolled her eyes internally and opted to save Stiles from his own self-inflicted awkwardness. "Tell me about it," she muttered under her breath. "We've already got the forbidden love angle down. Now all we need is a love triangle, an unwanted pregnancy, and an evil twin and we're heading straight to the daytime Emmy's for our award-winning soap opera."

Stiles chuckled a bit and she smiled in response. But then another question occurred to her. A question that might be even more pressing than the murderous rampage that was currently in progress in the Beacon Hills area. Her eyes fell back on the murderous face and blindingly red eyes still on her screen. And then her mind went to the drugged up red-head who was practically comatose across the street. Now she was faced with an uncomfortable truth. This newfound knowledge was going to force her to make decisions—decisions on behalf of other people without their knowing it—and she wasn't entirely comfortable with that. In fact, she wasn't comfortable with that at all. Determining other people's choices like that felt too much like playing God. That was way too much responsibility, especially for somebody as emotionally ill-equipped as her.

She winced heavily, closing her eyes, before reaching into her back pocket and pulling out the phone. When she placed it on the counter, the smile dropped off of Stiles's face, leaving him with the same expression she had.

"What are we going to do about that?" she asked, pointing at the phone. "You saw what Lydia's like now. She doesn't know whether to believe what she saw or what people keep telling her she saw. She's kind of falling apart right now. I mean, she'll be okay but still."

A look of intense regret crossed Stiles's face. He rubbed at his jaw and stared at the phone, the internal conflict shining through in his eyes. "Nobody can know about Scott," he said, not looking at her in the eye. "Nobody can know about any of it. The more people who know about it, the more people we put in danger and the more risk there is of everybody finding out and who knows what happens then. And I can't be responsible for that. I shouldn't have told you but you were—"

"An aggressive bitch," Charlie supplied.

Stiles let out a humorless laugh and shook his head, still staring at the phone. "I was going to say 'persistent'."

He pressed his fingers to his lips, staring at the phone with his leg bouncing up and down at a frantic pace. He didn't seem to notice anything else going on around him, blocking it all out to contemplate what to do. Suddenly Stiles looked a lot older. Not older in the sense that his hair went grey and got a bunch of wrinkles, but he looked….experienced. Like someone who had seen more than he should on his relatively short period here on earth. He had been faced with a situation like this before—weighing the welfare of his best friend against that of someone else he cared about—and he obviously didn't like it all that much.

Then Charlie did something impulsive. She snatched the phone up from off the table, fumbling with the keys, until she found the video and hit the delete button. She quickly slammed the phone back on the table and raised her hand back to her mouth, biting down on her finger.

"Wha—what was that?" Stiles demanded, looking between her and the phone. "Why did you just do that?"

"Because it needed to be done," she said in an almost-whisper, widening her eyes and nodding along to convince herself more than anything else. "It did—it needed to be done. And you didn't want to do it." Stiles looked up from the phone and stared at her with a weird sort of intensity. She began to feel self-conscious and could only maintain eye contact for about fifteen seconds before being forced to look away from him. Exhaling sharply, Charlie wiped at her eyes. "Look, my guess is that you've had to make a lot of calls like that lately, am I right?" She took Stiles's silence as yes and continued. "That must suck having to do that sort of thing, especially for someone you care as much about as you do Lydia. Well this time you didn't have to. Because I did."

Stiles let out a disbelieving laugh and gaped at her slightly. "I can't believe you just did that."

"What can I say?" she muttered. "I'm unpredictable. And it is the best thing for Lydia. It is. At this point she doesn't know what she saw, and she probably doesn't want it to have been a murderous werewolf."

Stiles shot her a skeptical look. "Are you sure that isn't just a rationalization?"

"No," she answered honestly.

Charlie was saved from saying anything more by the beeping of the oven, informing her that the eggplant was ready to be removed from the over. Sighing heavily, she hauled herself from her seat and wandered over to the oven, opening it and pulling out the eggplant. It was a bit of a relief, seeing as food was a sure-fire way to distract Stiles from talking about, well, anything, no matter how heavy the topic. He sat up in his seat and craned his neck, looking at the steaming food. Just as he began standing up in his chair, his phone started blaring in his pocket, startling him and making him fall out of his chair. He quickly righted himself and held up a finger, indicating for her to wait a second.

"Hey dad, what's up?" he asked in an oddly high-pitched, chirpy voice. "I'm….I'm at Charlie's house. We're, um, we're….."

"Studying," Charlie supplemented in a loud whisper as she grabbed a serving platter out of one of the cabinets.

"Studying!" Stiles said into the phone, giving her a thumbs-up in thanks. "Yeah, big chemistry test tomorrow. Lots of studying involved. What? No! Studying means studying. Why would you thi—Hey! It could be that! I mean it isn't but it could be. Would you—dad, stop laughing. Now you're just laughing harder. Seriously, stop!" Stiles seemed to realize that he was speaking loudly and glanced over at Charlie before moving into a corner and suddenly speaking in harsh whispers. "Yes dad, my thumb is fine. No, it hasn't been dislocated. Ugh. Is there a reason you called?"

Whatever the reason for Sheriff Stilinski's call was, the expression on Stiles's face made it clear that the topic at hand now was in no way preferable to the previous one. Charlie grabbed a couple of plates and utensils and setting them out on the counter, actively trying not to eavesdrop on Stiles's conversation and failing miserably. "Um, that depends on how you define good news," he mumbled, wincing heavily as he listened to his dad's response. "Well you might want to rethink that definition….Hey, I'm studying now, aren't I? I'd say that's an indication of a certain degree of responsible behavior. Yes, she's a good study partner—she's like one of four people in our entire class who gets As. How do I know that? I, uh, well I kind of look at the scores of other people around me when they get there tests back. _No_. Dad, it's only an invasion of privacy if they're doing badly! Look, just go to the parent-teacher conferences, talk to the teachers, and then choose how you want to humiliate me in front of my friends—" His eyes flickered in Charlie's direction and she suddenly made herself appear very busy. "How does that sound, does that sound like a solid plan to you? Okay, great. Bye."

Stiles hung up the phone and wrinkled his nose at it before slamming it back down on the counter and cursing under his breath. It had been a cringe-worthy conversation, that was for sure, and Charlie felt more than a little bit guilty for being as entertained by the interchange as she was. But with Stiles there was one thing that could make any situation better, and that was food. She plopped a large serving of eggplant on his plate, sliding it over towards him. With that he seemed to perk up slightly and grabbed the knife and fork she had given him, shoving impossibly huge bites into his mouth while she took smaller bites of hers.

"Dis is delicious," he mumbled out through a mouthful of food. " 'Ow did 'oo lean ta cook like dis?"

Charlie snorted and stabbed her fork into a piece of eggplant, holding it up to the light and twirling it around to inspect it from all sides. "My dad worked seriously long hours and he never really had time for that kind of stuff. When I was about eleven I decided that a bucket of chicken didn't constitute a balanced meal. At the time we had this old neighbor-lady, Mrs. Ainsley. She had like eight kids and a hundred grandkids. That lady could cook. One day I knocked on her door and asked her to teach me the basics."

Stiles swallowed down the industrial-sized mouthful of food and looked at her curiously. "Seriously? You started cooking when you were eleven?"

"Yup," Charlie replied quickly, shoving a bite in her mouth and chewing frantically. When she swallowed her food, she shot Stiles a questioning look and pointed her fork at him. "Okay, I'll pretend that I didn't hear that phone call with your dad, but only if you tell me everything."

Stiles paused, another huge forkful of food about to be shoved into his mouth, and then carefully placed it back on the table. "What is there left to tell? You've already deduced everything with all your deduce…i…ness." He started waving his fingers in her face and she slapped them away, giving him an unamused look.

"I don't mean the facts, Stiles," she said, raising her eyebrows pointedly. "I already know the facts. I mean the narrative—the story. I want to hear the story. I mean, I already know all the big important secrets, so what's the harm in telling me the rest? In for a penny, in for a pound, right?"

A heavy sigh issued forth from Stiles's mouth as he narrowed his eyes at Charlie, who was suddenly given the distinct impression that she was being appraised. For a second Charlie thought he was going to say no, but after a few moments he launched into his story, starting with the day Scott had been turned—how they were looking for the other half of Laura Hale's body when it had happened. She finally got an in-depth explanation of what had happened at Lydia's party with Scott's freak out and the full moon and for Stiles's strange phone call the day of that first lacrosse game. He told her about their worries of whether or not Scott had killed that bus driver and explained why she had seen them at that bus yard. And then there was Derek Hale—the initial suspicions, the tentative truce, the weird sort of mentorship scenario that was beginning to unfold—something neither Stiles nor Charlie seemed wholly comfortable with. Then, after a long and complicated story about how Kate shot Derek and some more insights into what had been the most uncomfortable dinner party of all time, they came full circle, settling on the events of the previous night at the video rental place.

After Stiles's twenty minute monologue, the two of them sat in silence for a while with Charlie processing all of the new information. Knowing everything about everything was kind of a double-edged sword. There was a great weight lifted from her shoulders—the weight of her own suspicions—but it was replaced with a new, heavier one. Because now that she knew everything, she had been placed in a very special category. She had become one of the people who could actually do something about what was going on in Beacon Hills, and that gave her responsibility. Looking over at Stiles, who was enthusiastically digging into his second serving of eggplant parmesan, she came to a decision.

"So what do we do now?" she asked, making him look up at her.

"Wha do 'oo mean?" he asked, spraying small bits of cheese across the counter.

"I mean what do we do about the alpha?" Charlie persisted. "What's our next move? What's the game plan? What can I do to help?"

"You don't have to do anything," Stiles said earnestly. "This isn't your fight. It's not down to you to solve the problem."

"I meant what I said earlier, Stiles," Charlie replied with an equal degree of sincerity and a lot of determination, tapping her finger against the counter for emphasis. "I'm in this, whether you like or not. And I'm going to help in any way I can."

"And I meant what I said earlier," Stiles mumbled. "This is dangerous stuff."

"I know that."

"Then why the hell do you want in?" he said, throwing his hands in the air. "Over the past month I've seen a ton of dead bodies, I was almost killed by my best friend, I freaking almost had to chop a guy's arm off—! I mean, I'm here because of Scott, but you….."

Charlie shifted slightly under the incredulous stare let out a long, tired sigh. "Look," she said, finally looking Stiles full in the face, "I never really had much growing up. I don't mean that like I was poor but….all of the moving around me and my dad did…I never really had any friends. I never bothered trying to make them, because what was the point, you know? I'd get close to someone, get uprooted, and then I would have to say goodbye and it would hurt. I learned that much by the time that I was five. It sucked, but I was okay with it because that was just the way things were. The one thing I had was my dad, and that was good enough for me. I was happy. Not skipping through the meadows happy, but content, you know?"

She paused for a moment and bit down hard on her lip, trying to assemble her thoughts enough to continue on with her monologue and that's when she realized that Stiles had stopped eating even though his plate was still half-covered in food. Charlie wasn't used to having someone's attention like that. She wasn't good at confiding in people. She didn't even open up to people like Dr. Hamilton who were paid to listen to her problems and keep her secrets. It was off-putting. But she knew Stiles's secrets now, and it seemed only fair. She cleared her throat and forced herself to continue.

"When my dad died," she continued a voice that she forced to stay steady, "when I lost him, I lost everything. I mean, he was all I really had and I just kind of assumed he would always be there. A part of me felt like that was it; my life was over at fifteen. But then I came here. And now I found something else. Mel, Lydia, Allison, Danny, even you and Scott—you guys….it's the only thing that makes him not being here kind of okay. If there's something threatening that, then I'm fighting it. I don't care if it's dangerous. I don't care what position it puts me in. There was nothing I could do to protect my dad from that freaking aneurism, but if there's something I can do to protect the people I care about here, then I'm damn well going to do it, with or without you and Scott."

Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for something to say. "That's, uh, that' s a pretty good reason, I guess. You make a compelling argument."

Charlie smiled and reached across the counter to punch him in the shoulder. "I have come here to chew bubble gum and kick ass. And I'm all out of bubble gum."

A more light-hearted snort forced its way out of Stiles's nose as he smiled back at her. "You've always got to take it back to the crappy 1980s horror flicks, don't you?"

Charlie scoffed waved her hand dismissively. "Please. Who says I ever left?"

At that moment they were both interrupted by the sound of a key turning in a lock. They're heads snapped around to face in the direction of the door, no doubt making them look like a pair or meercats, before they turned back to face each other. Mel was home.

"Hey, Charlie!" her aunt called out as she entered. "I can only stop by for a little bit before I head to your parent teacher conferences!"

In a flurry of action Charlie scrambled over the kitchen island, frantically pushing buttons to make the giant werewolf on the screen to disappear. "What do I do?" Stiles hissed at her, looking confused by her sudden panicky behavior.

"Just act normal," she whispered back.

"Did you cook eggplant parmesan?" Mel's disembodied voice asked. "Oh, you are an angel. What did I do before you got here?"

Charlie managed to slam her laptop shut just before Mel entered the room and arranged herself into a casual posture. Probably a little too casual. As Mel rounded the corner into the kitchen, the smile on her face dropped and was replaced by an expression of surprise. "Oh," she chirped out as her eyes fell on Stiles. "Hello. It's Stiles, right?"

Stiles grinned widely—so widely it turned into a bit of a grimace—and gave a long wave in Mel's direction, upon which Mel's expression changed once again, only this time it shifted from one of surprise to one of amused calculation. "I'm so sorry to burst in on the two of you like this, but Charlie didn't tell me that we would be expecting company. I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"You didn't," Charlie said in a low, warning tone. Knowing Mel and her penchant for botched attempts at match-making, this conversation could get cringe-worthy very quickly. "Stiles and I were just studying for the chemistry test tomorrow."

"Right…." Mel drawled out, a sly smile appearing on her face. "Say, um, Charlie. Since your studying shouldn't you have your books out?"

Shit. Crap. Son of a bitch. Time to think of a legitimate excuse. "I was quizzing Stiles on the material," she replied quickly. "You know, I think up a question, he answers it, and I tell him if he was right or not. That way we both have to recall the information." She turned to Stiles and nodded in his direction. "What's Avogadro's number?"

"6.022 x 10^23," Stiles answered. "It's the number of atoms in a mole."

"Correct!"

Charlie and Stiles both turned to Mel with their eyebrows raised expectantly. Mel didn't waver though. That insufferably sweet smirk on her face stayed firmly in place. "That's a nice jacket, Stiles," she said nodding in his direction.

He frowned and looked at the fabric currently covering his arms, clearly confused by the statement. "Um, thanks?"

But while Stiles remained completely oblivious to Mel's insinuations, Charlie was all too aware of them. She squeezed her eyes shut and winced. Stiles's jacket. She had told Mel it was an old one of Jackson's that she had borrowed while she was at Lydia's. And as a result of being caught in that lie, Mel was showing an off-the-charts degree of smugness.

"Charlie," Mel said sweetly, "can I speak to you please? In the other room?"

Charlie groaned loudly and got to her feet, trudging after Mel as she practically skipped into the living room and leaving a very confused Stiles in the kitchen. As they rounded the corner, Mel spun on her heel so that she was facing Charlie and planted her hands on her hips. Dragging her feet, Charlie came to a stop in front of her aunt and folded her arms over her chest. "It's not what you think?"

The smile on Mel's face grew a bit. "And what do I think it is?"

"Mel," Charlie said in a warning tone.

"Charlie," Mel replied, mimicking that tone.

"Stiles and I are just friends," Charlie continued, raising her eyebrows poignantly.

"Then why did you have his jacket?" Mel asked, cocking her head to the side coquettishly.

"Because he lent it to me at school when I got cold during chemistry class and I forgot to give it back to him. I left it in my car and on the way back from Allison's I got cold again, so I put it on."

"Oh," Mel chirped, raising her eyebrows at her niece. "Are you saying you had chemistry in chemistry class?"

Charlie let out a loud groan and ran her fingers through her hair. "That was the most obvious pun ever. I'm a bit disappointed in you for using it."

"I don't care," Mel replied with a prim shrug before narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "If it wasn't anything, then why did you lie about it?"

"To avoid this!" Charlie said, gesturing between the two of them. "To avoid the raised eyebrows and smirks. Look, Mel, I know that you were the Helen of Troy of your high school and that hanging out with boys usually came with a romantic component attached, but your high school reality is not my high school reality. There's no agenda here. Stiles and I are just friends. There's not going to be anything going on there."

"Why not?" Mel asked in a voice that almost sounded like a whine. "Why totally take it off the table?"

"Well for starters because he's in love with Lydia," Charlie deadpanned.

Mel opened her mouth instinctively to protest, but once she registered what Charlie had said, she snapped it shut again and a small frown appeared on her face. Holy crap, Mel was actually disappointed. Her need to have Charlie settled in Beacon Hills was reaching ridiculous levels if she was resorting to shipping Charlie with her classmates. "Really?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

"Yes," Charlie said, widening her eyes theatrically and nodding. "Really."

"That poor boy," Mel mumbled, staring off into the distance and speaking more to herself than to anybody else. Suddenly her eyes snapped back to Charlie and she gave her yet another knowing look. "Still, Charlie," she continued, placing a hand on her niece's shoulder. "I know that teenagers have secrets and I know they like their privacy. I just wanted to say that if you ever find yourself in a situation where—"

"Mel, are you actually trying to have 'the talk' with me?" Charlie demanded incredulously. "Is that seriously what's happening right now?"

Mel flushed red and removed her hand from Charlie's shoulder before taking a step back. "I remember what it was like to be a teenager," she said more quietly. "I just thought that it was a topic that should be addressed sooner or later." She sighed and nervously tucked a long, blonde strand of hair behind her ear. "Charlie, you know I'm no good at these things and I'm doing my best here."

"You're doing just fine," Charlie snorted out. "It's just totally unnecessary. Dad had the talk with me on my twelfth birthday and then threatened to kill any boy who ever hurt me. If you take out the package, put it in an envelope. I get it. I'm almost sixteen, not six, and I know where both babies and herpes come from. But you don't have to worry about any of that right now because Stiles and I are just friends and we were just studying."

"Alright," Mel said, nodding tentatively. "Alright. But don't think I've forgotten that you lied to me about that jacket. I ask that you don't make a habit of it. I place a lot of trust in you, Charlie, because I've always been able to. I really don't want for that to change."

Charlie felt her heart plummet into her stomach as a wave of guilt crashed into her. Given what was going on in Beacon Hills, that was going to be the first and the smallest of a long line of lies. But whatever inner turmoil she was experiencing, she didn't let it show on her face. "Of course," Charlie said innocently. "You know me. The way I just blurt everything out—I probably couldn't keep up a lie if I tried."

"Well that is true," Mel replied with a smile. "Now let's get back to the kitchen. I don't want to keep you away from your studying too long." The two of them walked back to the kitchen, but before they entered, Mel put a hand on Charlie's arm, stopping her. "Oh, Charlie. One more thing."

"What?" Charlie asked, frowning slightly.

"If a boy ever hurts you, I'll kill him."

Mel marched into the kitchen, leaving Charlie trailing behind her, chuckling. Stiles was still sitting in the same spot, looking confused and tapping his hands against the table. When the two of them walked in he grinned and waved again, but half way through the wave he seemed to think better of it and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"So I've got to run—parent teacher conferences and all that," she said, grabbing an apple and taking a big bite out of it before moving back to the door of the kitchen. "I look forward to some of that eggplant parmesan when I get back. You two kids have fun studying and behave yourselves."

"Of course we'll behave ourselves!" Stiles said through a nervous laugh. "I mean, why wouldn't we behave ourselves? What could we possibly—"

"Stiles," Charlie said sternly. "Stop being weird."

Stiles grinned again and gave Mel and Charlie a big thumbs-up. "You got it!"

Charlie slid back into her stool at the kitchen island and Mel gave the two of them one last suspicious look before heading to the front door. "You'll only hear good things!" Charlie shouted after her. "I bet they think that cartoon birds dress me when I wake up in the morning!"

There was a loud slam of the front door closing and Stiles swung his head in her direction and stared at her blankly. "Please. You know Mr. Hobson's going to have something to say."

Charlie pursed her lips and shrugged. "I'll let her hold onto those delusions for as long as I can."

The two of them were left sitting there in an awkward silence and Stiles began tapping his hands on the counter again. "So….." he drawled out awkwardly. "What now? Scott hasn't called or texted or responded to me at all, so I've really got no clue where to go from here."

Charlie shrugged again and pulled her loose hair up into a ponytail. "I don't know. We could continue discussing freaky werewolf stuff, we could watch TV, or we could make an honest woman out of me and actually study for the chemistry test we have tomorrow."

Stiles groaned loudly and slammed his forehead into the counter yet again. "I keep forgetting that that test is real and not some excuse you keep making up. I am so not ready for that."

"Alright," Charlie said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Chemistry it is. Come on, I've got all my stuff in my room."

She hopped up from her seat and Stiles followed her, dragging his feet and clearly not excited by the prospect of studying more. But as soon as she opened the door, the bored and tired expression on his face turned into a curious one. He peered around her room, taking in all the details. It made Charlie feel a little self-conscious. Her room was kind of like an outward expression of her personality—clean, but not entirely neat—and when it was being judged, she was being judged. Stiles scanned the walls, looking at her posters, and when his eyes fell on one in particular his jaw dropped open.

"Is that an original 'Tron' movie poster?" he asked, pointing at the wall.

"Yup," Charlie said, turning to her desk and grabbing her chemistry notes from where she had dropped them before confronting Stiles in the car. "You know me. I love me some cheesy 80s sci-fi."

"Nice," he mumbled under his breath. Charlie glanced over her shoulder and saw him still studying the room, his hands shoved firmly in his pockets and his head bobbing along like he was listening to a song she couldn't hear. Then his eyes fell on her guitar. "You play?" he asked, picking it up from the stand.

"Yeah," Charlie chirped, turning around from her desk with her books in her arms. "As far as I know it's the only thing I have in common with my mom."

Stiles slung the guitar strap over his shoulder and began strumming at it. Then all of the sudden he bit his lip theatrically and rocked back on his heels, moving his hands so that he was pretending to play the electric guitar. "Nice moves, Jimi Hendrix," Charlie drawled out, fighting back a smile. "Now all you have to do is actually learn to play and the ladies will start throwing themselves at your feet."

"Hey!" Stiles said, snapping and pointing at her. "Style is like 95% of the equation."

Charlie raised her eyebrows and snorted. "Is that so?"

"Definitely," he replied, nodding enthusiastically. "How else do you explain boy bands?"

"That's a good point."

Stiles removed the guitar from where it hung around his shoulder and placed it back on the stand. "So your mom used to play?"

Charlie shrugged. "Still does as far as I know. She used to send me birthday cards with guitar picks in them as a gift or whatever. It's been a year or two since I got one of those though."

"Oh," Stiles mumbled, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. "Sorry, I just sort of assumed that your mom was—"

"Dead," Charlie said, sparing him from having to finish the sentence. "Most people assume that. I usually just let them. I mean she might as well be. She left when I was a baby so I really never knew her at all. I honestly don't know why I kept the picks, or the cards for that matter."

"Because you want to have a connection to her," Stiles answered, making Charlie blink at him in surprise. He shot her an apologetic look and shrugged. "Sorry. I just—I get it. You don't have to like her, but she's kind of….where you came from."

From the way Stiles was twitching, it was obvious that he thought he had crossed some sort of line. Charlie just smiled at him, and he began to fidget less. "That was very insightful."

Stiles blew out a long breath and jerked his head to the side before giving her a casual smirk. "I'm an insightful person."

They stood there for a while before Charlie realized that she was still holding her chemistry books. "Right," she said, patting her hand against the cursed textbook. "We should probably get started on this stuff."

The two of them sat on the floor with the books spread out across the carpet. What felt like hours ticked by as they went over the material. They quizzed each other on theories and formulas, worked through problems, and read through Charlie's obnoxiously detailed outlines of the chapters. If one of them had issues with a problem or idea, the other would walk them through it. All-in-all it was a very effective study session, and a lot less mind-numbingly boring than usual. But when Charlie looked up at the clock, she still couldn't believe that only forty-five minutes had passed. Chemistry was just one of those things that seemed to screw with the workings of time. It was like purgatory. You're stuck there for what feels like forever, waiting to see if you were going to be sent to hell. Oh, who was she kidding? Harris was writing the test. All of them were riding an express train to the hotbox.

About two hours into the study session, Charlie groaned loudly and collapsed on her back so that she was lying on the floor. "I hate this!" she whined. "Can we go back to talking about crazy murderous werewolves and how we're all going to die? Because that is seriously preferable to all of this crap."

"Stop complaining," Stiles mumbled while trying not to drop the pen in his mouth while he kicked at her foot. "If you start complaining, then I'm going to start complaining and we'll just be wallowing in misery until the test tomorrow starts. And then we'll be wallowing in misery after we fail that test."

"What's wrong with wallowing?" Charlie shot back. "All of the great authors did it. When Hemingway wallowed they called it high literature."

"You can't seriously be comparing yourself to Ernest Hemingway," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. "Sit up and suck it up."

"Fine," Charlie muttered bitterly. She held out a hand which he grabbed hold of, hauling her back into the sitting position. Charlie leaned over her books, poised to start studying, but all of the sudden Stiles's phone started ringing. "Oh, thank God," she sighed out. "A distraction."

Stiles rolled his eyes at her again and grabbed his phone, hitting the 'send' button and pressing it to his ear. "Hello?"

About a millisecond after he answered the call, his face changed from one of slight annoyance to one of fear and worry. His mouth fell open and the pen fell from where it was being held between his teeth into his lap. "What?" he demanded, his eyes widening. "When did this—I'll be right there."

Without another word he threw himself to his feet and sprinted down the stairs. Charlie sat there frozen in surprise for a few seconds before hurtling after him. By the time she got to the bottom of the stairs, Stiles had already grabbed all of his things and was marching to the door. "Stiles!" she called after him. "What is it? What's going on?"

Stiles paused at the door, his hand on the handle, and looked back at her. "At—at the parent-teacher conferences," he stammered out. "There was a mountain lion—an actual one—in the parking lot. My dad—he got hit by a car."

A wave of terror coursed through her. "Jesus, Stiles, is he—"

"He's okay," Stiles said, nodding frantically. "Or he should be at least. But he's at the hospital and—"

"Go," Charlie said urgently, cutting him off. "Go now. Call me if you need anything."

Stiles exhaled sharply and nodded before wrenching the door open so violently Charlie was half-certain it would be ripped off its hinges. As it slammed shut, she sat down on the stairs and grabbed her phone from where it sat in her pocket and dialed one—Mel's number on speed dial. Her knee began to bounce up and down frantically as she listened to it ring and ring, waiting for the blonde on the other end to pick up.

As she sat there, her heart racing and desperate to hear the voice of aunt—desperate to see if Mel was safe—it occurred to her that chemistry homework wasn't the only thing that could make time feel like it was standing still.

**LOTS of Stiles and Charlie in this one! I hope you liked it and everybody came off as in character.**

**I've gotten a few questions asking when we'll see evidence of feelings between Charlie and Stiles. The indications will start soon-ish, but Charlie won't be aware of them (even the ones she exhibits). She's what I like to call emotionally constipated—she can feel a certain way without being aware she feels that way.**

**Please review to feed the muse who lives in my basement. I brought back leftovers from this really fancy restaurant and I don't want to wake up and see that they've been consumed by that annoying thing.**


	15. Interlude - Notes from Melody Oswin

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A big thank you to ScornedxRose, LoTS-Fanatic, xXbriannaXx, SuperSMA, cat-afterlife, bbymojo, SimplyKelly, Guests 1 and 2, alvirgil, TameTheGhosts, LynZann, easythrowaway, eugeniacartron, Juliedo, and Micaela M. And of course the wonderful BrittWitt16.**

**Alright, so I realize this chapter might not be what any of you wanted. It's short—more of a one-shot—and there actually isn't any Charlie OR Stiles in it. But I'm posting it anyway. I wanted to get to know Mel and her own conflict a bit better, and reveal more about Charlie and her relationship with her dad in the process. Anyways, it stuck in my head and I couldn't move on to the next 'real' chapter till I got this out of my system, so there it is. I hope you enjoy it.**

Interlude – Notes from Melody Oswin

"You are a mature and capable adult. You run your own business. You are responsible. You are impressive. You are a mature and capable adult. You run your—"

There was no way to get an accurate count of how many times that self-actualizing mantra was repeated. Given the twenty minute car ride between her home and Beacon Hills High School, it must have at least numbered in the dozens, if not more than a hundred. And yet it still felt like a lie. Maybe it would always be that way. She hoped it wouldn't, though. For the love of Neil Patrick Harris she hoped it wouldn't.

Melody Oswin pulled into the parking lot of the high school, drumming her fingers nervously against the wheel. It had already almost completely filled with cars, leaving limited spots left. Did that mean she was late? What kind of impression would it be if she was late for parent-teacher conferences? But, no. People were still getting out of their cars and filing in through those front gates. She was fine.

Letting out a long, calming breath, Melody pulled into one of the few free parking spaces near the far edge of the lot and turned off the engine to the car. She gripped the steering wheel tightly and stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror. "You are a mature and capable adult. You run your own business. You are responsible. You are impressive. You will not be intimidated by a few high school teachers, especially when the teenager you are here to discuss is getting straight As and doing everything a lot better than you did when you were that age."

Her hair was all wrong. Having it loose and down like that made her look about as young as she actually was. Under normal circumstances that would have been a good thing—if she was out with her friends or getting ready for a date, she would be happy to have that youthful glow about her. But tonight was going to be different. Tonight she was going to be surrounded by people who actually had experience molding and directing the lives of teenagers. What if one of them thought that she was actually Charlie's mother? That would have made her pregnant at thirteen years old. No, pregnancy took nine months. She would have been twelve. Mel shook her head to get rid of those thoughts and pulled her blonde locks back into a sleek, tight bun. Now she looked like a librarian. That could actually work in her favor for this particular occasion.

After one more breath, Melody climbed out of her hybrid and stood straight, brushing non-existent lint off of her clothes before grabbing her purse from its place on the passenger's seat. She had opted for a crisp, white collared shirt and a black pencil skirt, and low-heeled pumps. It wasn't exactly going against the whole 'librarian' look, but the way she figured it, looking like a librarian wouldn't be too much of an issue given that it was a high school and all. Unless that meant she was coming off as a 'sexy librarian'. Melody reached up and buttoned an extra button on the shirt, hiding the slightest hint of cleavage before marching towards the main entrance.

Melody reached the entryway and paused before cringing internally. It was like the first day of school all over again, and she was about to turn twenty-eight—something which anyone would consider to be a pretty big setback. And yet here she was, not knowing how to get to the right classroom.

"Are you new?" a kind, female voice asked from somewhere next to her. Melody started and jumped slightly before turning to find the warm, kind smile of another woman standing next to her. The woman had dark, curly hair, tan skin, and dark eyes. "Sorry if I startled you," she said, placing a comforting hand on Melody's arm. "You just looked a little lost."

Melody let out an awkward laugh and jerked her head to the side in a non-committal way, and the kind smile on the woman's face turned into a knowing one. "Ah," she said, nodding wisely. "First time?"

Melody scrunched up her face into a wince and leaned in. "That obvious?"

"Oh, it's fine," the woman said, waving her hand dismissively. "I remember the first time I went to parent-teacher conferences back in kindergarten , I was freaking out a bit myself. I had this whole recurring nightmare where my son and I would sit down in one of those ugly plastic chairs and the teacher would tell me that my son was eating glue or something and I would find out that I was a terrible mother. It got so awkward I had to run out of the classroom and took a wrong turn into the men's room. Worst way to wake up ever."

"What about now?" Mel asked quietly. "Now that he's in high school."

"Oh I have the same dream," the woman chirped good-naturedly. "Only my son's a lot bigger and the teacher is a lot more judgmental." Melody couldn't help the laugh that forced it's way out of her mouth and the woman smiled widely, apparently have achieved her goal of putting the nervous blonde more at ease. "Melissa McCall," she said, sticking her hand out.

Melody took the hand and gave it a light shake. "Melody Oswin."

"It's nice to meet you," Melissa replied, looking her up and down, not in an appraising way but like she was wondering whether or not she recognized Melody. "You're Charlie's aunt, right?"

Melody furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and nodded. "Y—yes. Do you know Charlie?"

"I've never met her," Melissa admitted. "But I've heard my son Scott mention her once or twice. I think she's friends with his girlfriend Allison Argent."

"Ah," Melody said, nodding. "Scott McCall. I remember Charlie mentioning him as well. Actually, I saw him play at the first lacrosse game this year. He was absolutely incredible."

"Thanks," Melissa replied, not sounding nearly as proud as Melody had expected her to. She glanced down at her watch and then scanned the parking lot, looking for somebody. Apparently she didn't find them, though, because she frowned and rolled her eyes. When she caught sight of Melody's inquiring stare, she winced lightly. "My son the star lacrosse player was actually supposed to meet me here, but his phone seems to be shut off and he is….not here."

Melody opened her mouth and paused, searching for the correct response, but as things seemed to go for her lately, she didn't have one. Melissa, noticing the discomfort, smiled again and gestured at the front door of the school. "You should go in, it's probably about time for them to start. Do you know which teacher you're supposed to see first?"

After mumbling a soft 'oh' Melody rummaged around in her seemingly bottomless purse until her fingers finally found their way around that email she had printed out. She yanked it out of the bag and smoothed out the creases so that it was almost flat. "Mr. Hobson," she said, squinting at the small print on the page. "Apparently he teaches the English classes here."

Melissa stepped forward so that she was shoulder-to-shoulder with Mel and pointed at school. "Right, so that's room 134. Once you go through those doors you want to take the third right and just keep going straight until you find the room. It'll be on the right."

"Thank you so much," Melody gushed. "There was a distinct possibility that I might have gotten lost otherwise." She turned back towards the school and sighed heavily. "The last time I was in a parent-teacher conference I was failing pre-Calculus and my dad was really disappointed in me."

"Well at least this time you don't have a final exam looming in your future," Melissa said with a light laugh.

"Yeah," Melody said, chortling as well. She didn't really believe it though. The final exam for parenthood was a hell of a lot scarier than anything one of her high school teachers could have put on paper. After another steadying breath she took a step forward, breaking that invisible between herself and the school and after offering a quick goodbye to Melissa she marched into the school in a way that probably appeared to any outside viewer to be confident.

Winding her way through the hallways, following Melissa's directions, she finally found herself in front of Mr. Hobson's classroom. Along with about six other parents, all of them older and most of them in couples. Clearing her throat lightly, Melody sat down in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs that lined the hall outside the door, all of them a garish orange color, and crossed her ankles in the most appropriate way possible. After a few minutes the door opened to reveal a stylish-looking couple striding into the hall. A few moments later, a balding, brown-haired man stuck his head out of the door and looked at the people waiting. "Mr. and Mrs. Reyes?" he inquired, scanning the line of people. At that the couple next to Melody got to their feet. They looked less polished and for some reason more exhausted than the other couples, but they still appeared to be perfectly secure as they walked into the classroom.

Melody listened to the door click and then swung her ad around to stair at the wall in front of her. The sight of what was on that poster made her stomach clench. It was an inspirational poster—the one with the little kitten dangling from a branch and the caption 'Hang In There'. That was it—the universe was definitely mocking her.

Her foot began to tap against the laminate tile of its own accord, filling the entire hallway with a loud clicking noise. She could feel some of the other parents looking at her, but it was an involuntary response. She really couldn't help it. It was a nervous response. And Melody was having trouble fighting off the one thought she refused to let herself think most of the time.

This was not how things were supposed to turn out. This was not how her life was supposed to go. Before her brother died and all of this started, Melody Oswin had had a plan. She was going to open her own boutique an design her own clothes before the age of thirty. That much had gone right. But it was all other stuff, the personal stuff, where everything seemed to deviate horribly. She was supposed to meet the love of her life by the time she turned twenty-five. They were supposed to get married two or three years after that. At thirty years old, after she and her significant other had established themselves professionally, they would have their first child. She and her husband would be happy and they would always look forward to the holidays they spent with her big brother and his brilliant and beautifully impossible daughter Charlie—who was more of a sister to her than a niece. And then, by the respectably seasoned age of forty-four or forty-five, she would be sitting in that garishly orange, horrifically uncomfortable plastic chair, waiting for her own child's parent-teacher conference.

But apparently life didn't operate according to a plan she had sketched out in the back cover of her senior high school year book. She was twenty-eight, there wasn't even a hint of a man in sight whether she was looking forwards or backwards, and she was trying to raise a girl who she would be much more comfortable gossiping with about boys and giving fashion advice to. That didn't mean that she didn't love Charlie or that she wasn't eternally grateful for the girl's presence in her life and her house. Because Charlie was a gift. It was just that she had belonged to someone else first, and Melody knew that she could never fill the shoes left behind. Both she and Charlie were living lives that seemed to be trapped half-way between reality and what they were supposed to be. But this was her reality now—plastic chairs outside teachers' classrooms. And she was going to be the best she could possibly be.

"Melody Oswin?"

The sound of her own name her head snap around, tearing her eyes away from the 'Hang In There' poster. She found herself blinking stupidly in the direction of the balding English teacher. She fully expected a disdainful glare, but instead she received a neutral smile. "Miss Oswin, please join me in my office."

"Y—yes," she stammered out, nodding frantically. "Yes, of course."

Melody quickly hopped to her feet and brushed off her skirt one last time before snatching her purse from the floor and following Mr. Hobson into the room. He closed the door after her and turned back to face her, again with a neutral, inscrutable expression.

"Miss Oswin," he said holding a hand out to her. "I'm Gary Hobson, your niece's English teacher."

"So nice to meet you," Melody said through a nervous smile, accepting the hand offered and giving it a firm shake.

"Please, sit," he said, gesturing at yet another uncomfortable plastic chair. Melody smiled nervously again and sat down in the chair while Mr. Hobson pulled a more plush, cushioned one out from behind his desk and stationed it so that he would be sitting directly in front of her. Before he sat, he went over to his desk and grabbed a notebook and pen from his desk, loudly clicking the pen open before taking a seat himself. "Miss Oswin," he said in a vaguely understanding tone. "I just wanted to let you know that I am already aware of the…..rarified circumstances in which you and Charlie seem to find yourself."

Melody wanted to laugh at the euphemism of 'rarified circumstances' but instead she just pressed her lips together in a thin line and nodded in understanding. "Charlie has undergone a drastic change over the past few months," she said quickly. "Her father died so abruptly, I can't see a way how it wouldn't have some sort of an effect on a student's performance. She's a really smart girl but she's been through a lot and—"

"Miss Oswin," he interrupted, holding out a steadying hand. "Miss Oswin, you misunderstand me. This was in no way a preface to bad news with regards to your niece's academic standing." Melody exhaled sharply and her shoulders sagged in relief, eliciting a chuckle from Mr. Hobson. "Now that that particular fear has been laid to rest," he continued, "I feel that I should tell you that Charlie has adapted excellently to Beacon Hills High, at lease where academics are involved. She's a very intelligent girl—quick, clever, witty, and highly analytical. I've spoken with other teachers and they seem to have the same assessment."

Melody felt a pleased smile creep onto her face and nodded. "She always was a precocious one, ever since she was a kid. I remember once when she was six or seven I pointed out a rainbow and said there was probably a leprechaun and a pot of gold at the end. She told me that I was being silly—that it was just light being refracted through water droplets. I used to think that she was missing out on her own childhood, figuring things out like that, but she got way more excited about the concept of water droplets breaking white light into colors than I ever did about leprechauns and unicorns."

Mr. Hobson smiled blandly and nodded. "Like I said, Charlie is a clever girl. But I often get the impression that she doesn't rate herself as such. A lot of the time she seems to find her insights to be more coincidence and luck than anything else. She gives more credit to the material she's presented with than her ability to interpret it."

"Charlie knows she's smart," Mel shot back almost defensively, worried that Mr. Hobson was suggesting that she wasn't aware of Charlie's capabilities. "She's just never seen herself as impressive or unique in that regard. She always says that she isn't all that smart, she's just observant—that she tries to see as much as she can so she can get all the facts in. The rest is just common sense."

"Well regardless of her assessment of her own abilities, Charlie is doing quite well here," Mr. Hobson said simply. But there was something else in his tone—something that didn't sound nearly as supportive as the words themselves did. Melody could sense a 'but' was about to enter the conversation. Mr. Hobson crossed his legs and balanced his notebook on his knee before bringing his hands together, pressing his fingers against each other and tapping his paired index fingers against his lips. "Miss Oswin, Charlie's academic record isn't really something that has to be discussed. There is, however, the matter of some minor behavioral issues."

Melody felt herself clench, gripping onto the arms of her chair. Behavioral issues. Those two words terrified her. They terrified her because they meant that maybe she was doing something wrong. "Wh—what—I mean, Charlie has always behaved responsibly at home. She had a knack for sarcasm and can sometimes be confrontational, but she has never been overly disruptive."

"The question is not how disruptive she is," Mr. Hobson replied. "She largely keeps to herself in class. The issue is how she addresses teachers when she does speak with them, both in and out of the classroom."

"How, um, how does she address them?" Melody stammered out.

"Charlie…." Mr. Hobson drawled out. "Let's just say that she seems to have a certain degree of disregard for authority. Often she addresses her teachers more as peers than as the figures of authority they are. Now I understand that the death of a parent might create a bit of a void of discipline, and that it must be difficult for someone as young as yourself to fill that void, but I believe that might have led to a certain degree of…..let's just say impertinence. If you were to exercise more discipline in the home, then—"

Melody cleared her throat loudly, effectively cutting off Mr. Hobson's comment. She winced apologetically at the affronted look that crossed his face, but didn't apologize. "Mr. Hobson," she said in the most placating tone possible, "I do apologize if Charlie has caused in trouble, but I feel that I should tell you that Charlie is never going to conform to the typical relationship between a child and an authority figure."

Mr. Hobson huffed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. "Really?" he asked in a slightly passive-aggressive tone of voice. "Why is that?"

Melody sighed and smoothed back the hair of her bun, even though it was still as slick and neat as ever. She didn't like bringing up the topic she was about to discuss, but it was for Charlie. And even though it was something she would never say to the girl, it was a truth that might bring Mr. Hobson to give her a little more leniency.

"Charlie idolizes her father," she said in a low tone, fixing Mr. Hobson with a meaningful stare. "Ever since she was a baby, they just had each other, and so he was everything to her. But because of that, she doesn't really see where he failed her." Melody had to pause to fight off the slightly sick feeling curdling at the bottom of her stomach. She loved her brother, but he was in no way perfect, and those imperfections had taken their toll on Charlie, whether she realized it or not. She took a long, steadying breath and then looked at Mr. Hobson who raised a single eyebrow, prompting her to continue.

"My brother worked a lot," Melody barreled on. "Long hours, weekends, holidays. He left Charlie to fend for herself a lot of the time—sometimes she even fended for them both. She basically raised herself. So if she ever looks at adults as peers rather than authority figures, it's because in a lot of ways Charlie is already an adult."

Mr. Hobson pursed his lips and nodded when she had finished her speech. "Thank you for your candor, Miss Oswin. I will take what you said into account."

After a few more minutes of discussing Charlie's grades and behavior in class, Mr. Hobson looked down at his watch and informed her that they're time was up. It was time for him to face the next set of parents. Melody smiled and thanked him for his time before getting to her feet and walking out the door. Reaching into her black hole of a purse, she pulled out the list of teachers. Next up, Coach Finstock, economics professor, room 215.

Taking a deep breath, Melody began to stride down the hallway, but before she got far something made her stop in her tracks. Again, she found herself face-to-face with the adorable 'Hang In There' kitten. She blew out a long breath and nodded in the direction of the poster.

"I'll try."

**Alright, there it is. I hope I didn't natter on too much about Charlie being smart. I just wanted to demonstrate that she undervalues herself, especially when comparing herself to Lydia (future conflict? Maybe?). Anywho, I'll be back to writing the A-story soon.**


	16. Fallout

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A big thank you to LoTS-Fanatic, TameTheGhosts, LynZann, xXbrianaXx, alvirgil, ScornedxRose, .lover, and Guest for reviewing. And then there's the lovely BrittWitt16 who is the human incarnation of 'awesome'.**

**Holy crap! 100 favorites and 200 reviews! Two amazing milestones given by my amazing readers. Words can not express how much I love you guys!**

Chapter 15 – Fallout

It's funny how many things could go to shit in the space of a few hours. Or at least that was the thought that kept running through Charlie's over the course of the weekend. The events at the parent-teacher conference seemed to her like someone had thrown a large brick into a perfectly still, serene lake. There was that first big splash—the initial upset—but it wasn't the end of things. After the splash came the ripples that spread outwards from that one point at broke the calm, smooth surface that used to be there.

Charlie had received the whole story about twenty minutes after Stiles sprinted out the front door to see if his dad was okay. She had arrived looking rattled and flustered, with clammy skin and wisps of blonde hair falling out of what was once a neat bun. After running to the door and throwing her arms around her already skittish aunt—probably not the best move—she fixed a big pot of chamomile tea and sat Mel down at the kitchen island. And thus the story began.

Mel had made her way into the parking lot after meeting with Mr. Harris—who she described as a cross between a weasel and a snake—and was standing at the main entrance talking with Scott's mom. Then, all of the sudden, something had caused a panic. People started screaming and running to their cars, seemingly without cause, until a loud roar rose over the screams. Mel described the rest of it as a bit of a haze. She had seen a car back into Sheriff Stilinski and had run to help him up. Upon some frantic questioning on Charlie's part, Mel assured her niece that the sheriff would be perfectly fine and continued. The rest of the details were fuzzy, but the story ended with a bang. Literally. A gunshot had rung out through the lot, leaving a mountain lion dying on the ground and Mr. Argent holding the gun.

That story itself seemed fairly self-contained, but like the brick thrown in the water, Charlie could feel the after-effects for the rest of the weekend. It started out with Mr. Harris postponing the chemistry test—something which she was not entirely ungrateful for. It was followed by Charlie finding a refreshed and smiling Lydia at school that Friday. Charlie had known that she would come back polished, but she had also come back relieved. She actually believed that she had been attacked by a mountain lion. And she actually believed that that mountain lion was dead. Charlie knew that she probably should have been relieved to discover that—she knew that she should probably look at it as a good thing—but she just found herself feeling guilty.

Next up was Allison. Externally she was a lot less 'fine' than Lydia was. And Charlie couldn't really blame her. She had skipped school and gotten caught, which was apparently a big breach of trust between her and her parents—which Charlie found ironic given what they were hiding from her. Then there was the fact that her family now hated her boyfriend more than they had to begin with. Which, incidentally, was a lot, even before they knew that he was their wolfy nemesis. And finally, to top it all off, her dad had decided to fire openly into a crowded parking lot filled with her friends' and classmates' parents. That had kept Charlie on the phone for about an hour and a half, given that Allison had been grounded and that was their only medium of communication. Again, not that Charlie blamed Allison. The situation sucked.

Then there was Scott. She still didn't know him all that well—or at all really—so her ideas with regards to him were more speculation than fact. There wasn't a doubt in Charlie's mind that he was facing a crapstorm of consequences. All indicators said he wasn't doing so well in school to begin with. That, combined with fact that he had skipped class the day of parent-teacher conferences definitely spelled a grounding for him as well. And that was before she considered all of the impact a dead mountain lion in the parking lot would have for all of his werewolf issues. 'Werewolf issues'. She still needed to get used to thinking in those terms. Maybe she should plagiarize J. K. Rowling and start calling it his 'furry little problem'. Though that turn of phrase still made her think of a rabid chipmunk for some reason. That was another thing she wasn't looking forward to—seeing Scott now that he knew she was in on his secret. That would just be a whole other pile of awkward.

Ultimately, though, the person she was the most concerned about was Stiles. She wasn't sure why that was—both he and Mel had told her that Sheriff Stilinski was fine. Maybe it was the look on his face when he had scurried out of her house. It looked a lot like the one she imagined had adorned her face when her dad collapsed—the complete fear and feeling of uselessness. She could still hear the relief in his voice when he had called just before midnight and stammered out that everything was okay—that his dad was fine. She was grateful for the call—she had been feeling some anxiety herself—but she was left wondering why it was her he had chosen to call as soon as everything was sorted out. It didn't take that long for her to find out.

The biggest ripple in the glassy pond that was her life in Beacon Hills really didn't have anything to do with her at all. Stiles and Scott were fighting. It sounded so middle school when someone said it out loud, but for some reason it felt like there was an unnatural shift in the universe. The two of them came as a pair—that's just the way it was. And even though Stiles never mentioned it out loud, she could tell that there was something wrong in their dynamic.

Charlie had visited Stiles and his dad after school on Friday to drop off some 'feel-better-soon' donuts—Stiles had gotten mad at the lack of healthiness and Sheriff Stilinski had said it was the most delicious stereotype ever. Sheriff Stilinski had insisted that she stay for a little while to partake of the donuts and she and Stiles had ended up playing Halo for like two hours. On the exterior it was typical enough with plenty of trash talking and nerd references—Charlie had thrown her hands in the air and shouted 'no power in the verse can stop me' at the screen on more than one occasion. Overall, though, she had sensed a sort of tension in Stiles that seemed atypical for him. And then his cell phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket to his the 'ignore' button, but not before Charlie was able to see Scott's name flashing across the screen. She hadn't said anything then—she had no idea what she should say—but the message came across clearly enough. She just hoped that the radio silence and bad blood didn't have anything to do with her newfound membership in the 'werewolf club'. At least she assumed Stiles had told Scott. It seemed like a fair enough assessment.

All in all, Charlie really wasn't looking forward to Monday. If she was being honest she never did, but this Monday in particular seemed to carry with it quite a bit of emotional baggage and resentments. She couldn't help but feel a sort of tingling nervousness as she pulled into the parking lot, especially since there were still bits of crime scene tape littering the ground. And all her suspicions were entirely confirmed when she walked into English class. Apparently they had a new seating arrangement. Unlike their usual arrangement with Stiles sitting on Allison's other side, diagonal from Scott, Stiles threw his bag onto the floor on Charlie's other side, distancing himself from his friend.

"Hey," she said, trying to keep the confusion and surprise out of her voice.

"Hey," Stiles grumbled back tersely. Charlie was a bit taken aback. His attitude was just so out of character for him. Usually Stiles managed to maintain his enthusiastic and energetic demeanor even on shitty Monday mornings, but this time it seemed like a dark cloud was hanging over his head. And then Charlie noticed that the glower was directed towards Scott's still empty seat.

"Right," Charlie whispered, nodding to herself. He was still pissed at Scott. She glanced back over at Stiles's dark expression and winced internally, making a note to never piss him off. She didn't like the expression on his face, not one bit. It almost seemed unnatural for him not to be demonstrating that good-natured, manic energy, and as uncomfortable it was for her to see him this way in the first place, it would be even worse if she was the one who caused the broodiness.

"How was the rest of your weekend?" she mumbled uncomfortably, searching for something to say.

"Oh, the usual," Stiles drawled out sarcastically, anger seeping into his tone. "Homework, TV, video games, a trip to the hospital. Same old song. Half the time I thought I was on spring break I was having so much fun." He glanced over in her direction and saw her regretful expression and some of her darkness lifted as he sighed apologetically. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said, turning in his seat so that he was facing her. "I'm—I've just been a bit….stressed this weekend."

Charlie let out a good-natured snort and waved her hand dismissively. It was clear that 'stressed' was a euphemism for being completely and entirely pissed at his best friend. "Don't worry about it," she said, waving her hand dismissively. He nodded and turned back to the front of the classroom. Charlie narrowed her eyes at him, studying his profile. "You and Scott still having problems?"

Stiles snorted bitterly and nodded. "Yup."

Charlie bit her lip and nodded in understanding. She cleared her throat and turned in her seat so that she was facing Stiles. "It's not because of me is it?" she asked quietly. "I mean, it's not because you told me about the—the situation, right? Because if it is, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean for—"

Stiles held up a hand, cutting her off. "It's not about that. Trust me."

"Good," Charlie said, sighing in relief and turning back to face front of the room. She stole a few sidelong glances at Stiles. "You wanna talk about it?"

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Not really."

"Okay, then," Charlie replied quickly, a little bit relieved. "But I'm here if you need to yell at someone unnecessarily, and I promise not to get mad."

A smile appeared on Stiles's face. "Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely," she chirped, nodding enthusiastically. "I mean, I might punch you in the face but I won't be mad."

"You really need to work on your sales pitch," Stiles said through a snort, gesturing in the general direction of her face. "And FYI punching your friend in the face kind of negates all of the emotional understanding-ness in your offer."

"Hey, I'm not Mother Theresa," Charlie shot back, crossing her arms and shrugging. "I go by playground rules. You get in my face, I punch you. Otherwise the other kids will see me as weak and turn on you. It's nothing personal."

Stiles gaped at her a moment and then shook his head in disbelief. "Playground rul—that's prison rules! What kind of playgrounds were you playing in? Where the hell did you grow up, the Thunderdome?" Charlie just smiled mysteriously and shrugged her shoulders again, making Stiles scoff loudly. "You know sometimes you scare me a little."

Charlie smiled widely and raised her eyebrows at him. "Good. That means you have good instincts. You would do well in the Thunderdome."

Stiles rolled his eyes at her and turned back to the front of the class, tapping nervously on the desk. "How's your dad doing?" she asked, eyeing him with concern.

Stiles blew out a long breath and rubbed at the back of his head. "The scans said that he didn't bruise his spine. He should be fine, but the doctors say he should take it easy—rest a lot."

"And how's that working out?" she asked, raising her eyebrows skeptically.

"Not too well," Stiles replied. "He keeps going over his files. Every time I try and get him to lie down he starts yelling at me that his house isn't a nursing home."

"Yeah, well he's a cop," Charlie sighed out, pulling at the tip of her braid. "Asking a cop not to try and do his job is kind of asking someone to go against their inner nature. Your dad's a good cop. Honestly, I would be a bit disappointed in him if he just lay down without any protest."

Stiles groaned and slammed his forehead against the desk. "Can you stop being all wise and understanding and just let me complain? Is that too much to ask?"

"Sorry," Charlie said, throwing her hands in the air in submission. "Go ahead. Complain away."

"Nah," Stiles said, hauling his head up off the desk. "You've ruined the moment."

At that moment the door opened to reveal an oddly mild Scott. He was looking earnestly at Stiles with those apologetic puppy dog eyes of his, but Stiles just glowered at him for a moment before grabbing his book out of his bag and pretending to be quite interested 'Dante's Inferno'. Defeated, Scott took his regular seat and slumped forwards, resting his chin on his desk. The whole interchange made Charlie frown to herself. She had assumed that there was some sort of mutual antipathy thing going on, but that didn't seem to be the case. Stiles was pissed at Scott, and Scott looked like he felt guilty as hell.

A wave of confusion smacked Charlie in the face. There was no reaction to her whatsoever—no nervousness, no skittishness, no nothing. She had expected at least a little bit of awkwardness in their first post-reveal encounter, and the complete lack thereof could only mean one thing. He didn't know that she knew. Stiles hadn't told him. She wasn't sure why, but she had just assumed that he would. And the fact that he hadn't meant that the two of them really were on the outs—that they hadn't talked at all since Thursday night. Charlie turned towards Stiles and looked at him questioningly, but he just ignored it, leaving her wondering what exactly had happened between the two of them.

English class seemed even more tedious than usual as Charlie waited for the bell. She kept glancing back and forth between Stiles and Scott, trying to piece together what could have happened to create that sort of a rift. She knew Stiles was mad at Scott for bailing on him that day at school, but that didn't seem like enough to bring on this degree of animosity. When the bell finally did ring, Stiles scrambled out of his chair as quickly possible and practically sprinted out of the classroom, leaving Scott staring after him. Charlie scrambled after him, pushing her way past the other students until she caught up with him.

"Hey, Stiles!" she called out after him. He stopped in his tracks and spun around, giving her a weird look. "Hey, Charlie," he mumbled in confusion. "What are you—"

"We need to talk," she interrupted. Wrenching open the door to the empty music room next to her, she grabbed hold of his arm and shoved him inside before closing the door and pulling down the blinds over the window in the door that looked onto the hallway.

"What are you doing!" he said, gesturing at the door. "We're going to be late for class. This is not normal behavior."

"I don't care," she snapped. "What was that in English class with you and Scott?"

Stiles sighed heavily and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "I'm not really talking to Scott right now."

"I can see that," Charlie replied, raising her eyebrows at him. "What I'm wondering is why you're not talking and why he doesn't seem to know that I know about his….condition. Why haven't you told him yet?"

"Why is it up to me to tell him?" Stiles demanded.

"Because he's your best friend and I'm pretty much a complete stranger," Charlie replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which, in her opinion, it was. What was she supposed to do? She didn't have Scott's number, she didn't know where he lived, and in her opinion blurting it out in homeroom was a pretty shitty idea. Coming from her the only way the big reveal would end was in disaster.

"If I told him about you that would kind of defeat the purpose of the whole 'not talking to him' thing, wouldn't it?" Stiles shot back.

"Don't you think he deserves to know that I'm in on the whole werewolf business now?" she asked incredulously. "I mean, it's his secret. Shouldn't he be aware of who has all the information?"

"Right now I really don't care what Scott deserves," Stiles growled in response. "And if you're so bent out of shape over him not knowing about you, why don't you tell him yourself?"

"And how would that work out, hm?" she demanded, poking him in the shoulder. She put on a theatrically sweet smile and shoved her hands in her pockets, hunching her shoulders and adopting a mild posture. "Hey, Scott!" she chirped. "I'm some random girl that you barely know, but I'm fully aware of your darkest and most personal secrets. How did I find out? Your best friend told me. Okay, then! Bye!" She dropped the act and glowered at Stiles. "Do you really think that would go over well for anybody involved—especially you? You need to be the one who tells him. Or at least you need to be there when I do. Otherwise it'll seem like a betrayal. Anyways we're going to need him if we want to find out who the alpha is."

"I don't see why we can't research that on our own," Stiles grumbled. "I mean it's not like Scott was getting anywhere with that to begin with."

At Stiles's use of the word 'we' something occurred to Charlie, and she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cringe. "Holy crap," she mumbled to herself. "I'm the other woman."

Stiles's head snapped in her direction and he gave her another strange look. "What?"

"You're cheating on Scott with me," she said, gesturing between the two of them.

He looked at her like she was crazy. "Did you suffer from some sort of acute head trauma over the weekend?" He asked waving his hand around his own head. "Because I think you might have a concussion."

"I'm the one you're discussing all the werewolf stuff with because you're refusing to discuss it with him. I'm the temporary replacement Scott. I don't know how I feel about that—I am _not_ the B team."

Stiles blew out a long breath and shook his head. "There's not temp—Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous," she replied, running over the events of the weekend in her head. "You're talking to me about everything you would be talking to him about during normal circumstances. You called me about your dad. We played video games. You sent me that rambling email filled with your Derek Hale conspiracy theories—"

"It wasn't rambling," Stiles murmured defensively.

"I'm totally your replacement Scott," Charlie barreled on. "_And_ he doesn't know that I'm in on the secret? I feel like a dirty home wrecker."

"Hey, the only person who wrecked anything was Scott!" Stiles muttered bitterly. A mildly guilty look crossed Stiles's face and Charlie took a step towards him. "What the hell happened between the two of you?" she asked insistently. "I've stayed out of it because I didn't think it was my place to but in to your personal problems if you didn't want to talk about them, but this is getting ridiculous. And this sure as hell isn't about a few missed calls while he was out with Allison."

Stiles frowned and let out a long breath. "He's not taking any of this seriously enough," Stiles finally grumbled. "While he's off making out with his girlfriend and ignoring everything that's going on around him, people are getting hurt. He's got all these new abilities and stuff. That means he has a responsibility to help people."

"People like your dad?" Charlie filled in. Stiles didn't say anything, but he rocked back on his heels, pressed his lips together in a thin line, and looked anywhere but at her, which by now Charlie knew indicated a resounding yes. She sighed heavily and rubbed at her forehead. "Scott's a high school sophomore, not Spiderman," she said, looking pointedly at Stiles.

"Peter Parker was in high school," Stiles shot back. "He didn't seem to have any issues with the whole saving the world thing."

"Is that seriously going to be the basis of your argument?" she demanded, raising her eyebrows at him. "Comic book logic? Look, Stiles, I get the whole 'with great power comes great responsibility' thing, but you can't really expect him to save everybody, even if that someone is your dad."

"I can expect him to try, though!" Stiles shot back. "I can expect him to care enough not to go and disappear for an afternoon while the shit is hitting the fan! I can expect him not to abandon me with all of the problems when there's really nothing I can do about it no matter how much I want to!"

Stiles groaned loudly and collapsed in one of the nearby chairs, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands. Charlie bit her lip as yet another swooping feeling of regret washed through her. She was still new to the party and hadn't realized exactly how much strain Stiles had been put under with everything that was going on. She had a good handle on the burden having the knowledge placed on somebody, but she wasn't yet acquainted with the feeling of futility Stiles must feel. He was logistics and backup. Both of those things were important, but when it came down to it they didn't decide the winner. Which meant that whenever Scott wasn't around, Stiles probably felt just a little bit useless. Charlie understood those circumstances, and she knew just how shitty it could make you feel.

Moving over to the chairs, Charlie sat down next to Stiles. She reached up and put a hand on his shoulder, making his head snap up so that he was looking at her. She smiled gently and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You're right," she said, nodding at him. "Scott probably needs to take this more seriously. But you can't blame him for your dad. He's a cop. It's his job to put himself in harm's way. And you can't keep up this radio silence thing. It's not sustainable and it's not really helping anybody at all."

"Would you stop that?" Stiles demanded, wrinkling his nose at her.

Charlie blinked in confusion. "Stop what?"

"You know," he said, waving his fingers in her face. "Stop ruining all my anger with all of your…..reasonableness and logic. I don't care for it. You're supposed to be on my side."

"I am on your side," Charlie replied, elbowing him in the ribs. "Sometimes being on somebody's side means telling them what they need to hear and not what they want to hear."

She looked at Stiles expectantly, hoping for some sort of response, but she didn't get one. The second bell rang, reminding them that they were actually supposed to be in class. Stiles stood up and grabbed his bag from the floor, heading towards the door. He wrenched the door open, but paused for a moment. "I'll talk to you later, Charlie," he mumbled before ducking out the door.

Sighing heavily, Charlie hauled herself up and dragged her feet to her next class. Maybe she had overstepped her bounds. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately—forcing herself into other people's lives. She never used to do stuff like that. Live and let live—that was her philosophy—and yet she seemed to keep giving people advice like she knew what she was talking about. Charlie knew next to nothing about being anybody's friend or confidant. She was quick with the witty banter and pop culture references, but other than that…..she was more or less useless. At least she used to be.

Once again, her classes seemed to blur together. There was just so much for her to be preoccupied with lately, math and French didn't really seem to be that high on her list of priorities anymore. Her mind kept drifting back to Stiles and Scott, their fight, what they were going through. Their problems were hers now, whether they were aware of it or not.

And then, a miracle happened. At the beginning of chemistry class she was about to take a seat next to Lydia, and then Stiles and Scott walked in together—talking—before they took their usual spots. Charlie shot Stiles a questioning look, and he simply shrugged in response. She was about to go over and ask what the hell had happened in the last hour to cause such a change, but before she could the dark shadow that was Mr. Harris descended on the class and began to teach/berate them.

When the class had finally finished, Charlie quickly shoved all of her belongings into her bag and so she could follow Scott and Stiles as they ran out the classroom. She slung her bag over her shoulder and was about to move after them when a small, manicured, and surprisingly strong hand wrapped around her arm. Charlie turned around to see Lydia looking up at her with her eyebrows raised expectantly. "Excuse me, what do you think you're doing?" Lydia demanded with that sort of cheerful accusatory tone only she managed to pull off.

"Um, I'm going to my locker?" Charlie responded, the sentence coming out more as a question than anything else.

"I don't think so," Lydia said, getting to her feet and snatching up her purse. "You seem to be wandering off a lot these days. I don't approve."

"We literally went shopping yesterday," Charlie deadpanned. "Remember? You made me carry all your bags. I wanted to go into that thrift shop on Oak Street and you told me that I'd never find myself a man if I wore recycled hobo clothes that 'stank of disappointment and charity tax credits'."

Lydia pursed her lips and shook her head, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Not ringing any bells. I think you've been neglecting me….and yourself for that matter." Ignoring her, Lydia took a step back and looked Charlie up and down, taking in her floral skull print shirt, overall skater skirt, and blue Converse before pursing her lips and frowning. "You're already starting to forget everything I taught you."

"That implies that I was ever paying attention in the first place," Charlie shot back.

Rolling her eyes and linking her arm through Charlie's, Lydia practically dragged the other girl to the lunch room. Charlie would never stop being baffled by how quickly she managed to walk in those heels of hers. "We are going to have a girls' lunch," Lydia said with determination. "No boys, no distractions, just you, me, and Allison—talking about boys and distractions."

"Sounds unmissable," Charlie murmured, craning her neck and looking around for Stiles and Scott. She thought that as soon as she figured out what was going on in Beacon Hills, that meant she would stop finding herself out of the loop. Apparently that was not the case. That or Stiles was just a seriously shitty communicator.

"Alright," Lydia said, interrupting Charlie's train of thought. "There's Allison in the lunch line. You go get us some food and I'll find us a spot. Meet you in five."

Lydia spun on his heel and began marching in the opposite direction, leaving Charlie staring after her. "Hey!" Charlie shouted at her retreating figure. "Why am I buying you food?"

Lydia just waved her hand and continued to march off into the distance. Charlie rolled her eyes and grabbed a tray before trudging towards Allison where she stood in the lunch line. Allison didn't see her approaching, though. She was preoccupied, engrossed in an old-looking book. Charlie walked up to her and peered over her shoulder to get a look at what she was reading and was confronted with pictures similar to the ones she had seen in the book in Allison's room. "What are you reading?"

Allison jumped slightly and turned around, a small smile forming on her face when she saw Charlie. "Oh, hey, Charlie," she said, shaking off the surprise. "You startled me."

"Yeah, I can see that," Charlie said with a smirk. "You seemed pretty wrapped up in whatever that was." The lunch line moved slightly and the two of them pushed their trays down. "What is it?"

"Just research," she replied simply. "My aunt Kate told me about my family—you know, ancestors and stuff. I told her about that history project where we have to write about something that relates to our family. Apparently there's this French legend—I've been reading up on it a lot."

Charlie's mouth formed a silent 'o'. It looked like her initial impression was right. Kate did want Allison in on the secret. She had already started leaving breadcrumbs, trying to lead Allison to the truth. But she just smiled casually and pretended nothing was wrong. "That's really cool," she said, nodding absently. "I'm pretty sure my ancestors were boring cattle farmers or something, so I'm going a bit more recent with my project. I'm doing it on the history of the Coast Guard. Old French legends? Way cooler than dear old Bessie, no matter how delicious the hamburgers are."

Allison let out a light snort, but then something changed in her expression. A line formed as she pulled her eyebrows together in a frown. "Hey, can I ask you a question?" she asked softly.

"Sure," Charlie said, getting two helpings of salad. "What's up?"

Allison bit her lip and bounced up and down on her feet anxiously. "Does Scott seem like he's acting kind of weird to you?"

Charlie let out a soft snort. "No offense or anything, but Scott always seems like he's acting kind of weird."

"No, I mean especially weird," she mumbled. "I was walking down the hallway this morning and I could swear that I saw him running away from me. And then this morning in English class when I waved hello he just ignored me and sank lower in his seat. He snuck in this weekend—"

"Allison, you little minx!" Charlie said, smacking her in the arm.

Allison flushed red and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before continuing. "Everything was fine until Kate walked in on us. He hid in the closet for a while and then left. I mean, everything was fine when he left. What changed?"

Charlie hissed and shrugged her shoulders. "Can't help you there. Maybe he just really had to pee or something and was running off to the bathroom."

Allison furrowed her eyebrows, considering the thought. "And in English class."

Charlie blew out a long breath and looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "Maybe he was just afraid of getting in trouble in class. I mean, his mom is probably pretty pissed at him about missing parent-teacher conferences. She must have put him under some sort of parental academic probation."

The possible explanation didn't seem to make Allison feel any better. "I can't believe he got in trouble for me. I feel so guilty."

"Oh, come on," Charlie said, patting Allison on the shoulder. "I'm sure he thinks it's totally worth it. Now come on. Lydia's saving us a seat. Apparently we're having a 'girl's lunch', whatever the hell that is."

Charlie really wasn't sure what constituted a girl's lunch, but given the expression on Lydia's face as the three of them sat at the table, what was happening was definitely not one of them. The enthusiasm on her face as Charlie and Allison sat down at the table faded almost immediately as Allison opened up the book she was reading on the table. Lydia and Charlie chatted absently for a while—primarily with Lydia listing all the things that were wrong with her outfit—but Lydia kept glancing over at Allison as she read, a frustrated expression firmly planted on her face. Eventually she dropped her fork on the table with a loud clattering noise.

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Lydia placed her elbows on the table and folded her hands together, primly resting her chin on them. "Um, Allison," she said sweetly, "what are you doing?"

Allison's eyes flicked up from her book. "Reading," she said simply.

"Yeah…." Lydia drawled out, clearly unsatisfied. "I can see that you're reading. What I don't understand is why you're reading here and now. I mean, I would expect this kind of thing from Charlie but not you. No offense, Charlie."

"None taken," Charlie said, snorting into her plate. "Though I do understand why some people might take offense. Being well read is just…it's embarrassing, really."

"Being well read isn't embarrassing," Lydia replied snappishly. "Being a crazy shut-in nerd with no social life is." She squinted over at Allison's book. "What are you reading anyway?"

"A book of old French legends," Allison said, smiling excitedly. "It's for the family history

Lydia pursed her lips and nodded. "Okay, follow up question. Why are you reading that?"

"For the history paper we have to write on our families—it's really interesting," Allison gushed, hunching over her book and drew her leg up to her chest, resting it on the edge of the chair. "They've got this entire story about _La Bête du Gévaudan_."

"The what of who?" Lydia demanded, waving her fork around.

"The Beast of Gevaudin," Allison elaborated. "Listen. A quadruped wolf-like monster prowling the Auvergne in south Dordogne in France during the years 1764 to 1767. La bête killed over a hundred people, becoming so infamous that the king Louis XV sent one of his best hunters to try and kill it."

As she told the story, Allison's voice had adopted a sinister tone, sort of like she was telling a ghost story, and Charlie started feeling the slightest twinge of fear. Not because of the story itself of course, but because the scenario being laid out in that story was unsettlingly similar to the one playing out in Beacon Hills at that very moment. Kate was definitely steering Allison in the right direction, and that could go very badly for Scott and Stiles.

"Boring," Lydia interrupted casually, destroying all sense of gravitas.

"To you maybe," Charlie said, turning back to Allison and urging her on. "Keep going."

Allison leaned forward, fixing the both of them with a serious stare. "Even the church eventually declared the monster a messenger of Satan."

"Mmmh," Lydia interjected, pursing her lips in consideration. "Still boring."

"Cryptozoologists believe that it may have been a subspecies of hoofed predator, possibly a masonicate—"

"Slipping into a coma bored," Lydia sighed out, taking a bite of her food.

"While others believe that it was a powerful sorcerer that could shape-shift," Allison whispered dramatically, "into a man-eating monster."

"Any of this have anything to do with your family?" Lydia asked, raising her eyebrows and waving her fork around.

"This," Allison continued. "It is believed that la bête was finally trapped and killed by a renowned hunter who claimed his wife and four children were the first to fall prey to the creature. His name was Argent."

"Damn," Charlie said, letting out a low whistle. "You hail from a long line of badasses, Allison. Remind me not to pick a fight with you."

Lydia on the other hand seemed thoroughly unimpressed. Though that seemed to be one of her basic personality traits. "You're ancestors killed a big wolf," she deadpanned. "So what?"

"Not just a big wolf," Allison said, flipping to another page. "Take a look at this picture." She flipped the book around and held it up for both her and Lydia to look at. "What does that look like to you?"

When Charlie got a good look at the picture, she felt her stomach clench. It was a huge, wolf-like beast, but that was to be expected given the narration she had just received. What got to her were the bright red eyes that seemed to see straight through the mist swirling around the shrouded figure. Charlie glanced over at Lydia. Her eyes seemed to widen, fixated on the photo. But the moment passed as soon as it came and she quirked her head to the side, a superior smirk on her face. "It looks like a big wolf," she said snarkily, enunciating every syllable. She smiled and grabbed her things before getting to her feet. "See you in history!"

And with that she marched off, leaving Allison and Charlie staring at her wake. Charlie cleared her throat and turned back to Allison. "Is there anything else in there," she said, peering down at the page. "Anything else about your family, I mean."

"I haven't found anything else yet," Allison said, gnawing at her fingernails. "But did you know that 'argent' is French for 'silver'?"

"Nope," Charlie said, popping the 'p' and shoving a forkful of salad into her mouth. "None of my nine years of French classes ever informed me of that fact."

Allison rolled her eyes good-naturedly and returned to her book, leaving Charlie with her salad and her thoughts. It wasn't long though before she felt something collide with her shoulder. She brushed at the point of collision, not thinking much of it, but then it happened again. Frowning in confusion, she glanced at the floor to see a couple of grapes rolling around. She glanced up and saw Stiles waving at her from the other side of the room.

"I'm, uh, I'm going to go," she said, jerking her thumb across the room.

"Okay," Allison said smiling at her. "See you later."

Charlie grabbed all her things and made a beeline towards Stiles, but not before she heard Allison calling out Scott's name. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Scott running away with Allison chasing after him. "What was that about?" she asked Stiles as she walked up to him.

"Scott's avoiding Allison because Derek told him to," Stiles drawled out.

Charlie wrinkled her nose in confusion. "What?"

"Yeah," he mumbled in frustration. "Turns out you were right about the whole 'not talking to Scott' thing being a bad idea and not helping anybody. Three days—" he said holding up three fingers. "Seriously, three days and the idiot's going to Derek for help. I mean, seriously? Derek? Ugh, he's hopeless."

"So I take it you guys haven't kissed and made up yet," Charlie said, raising his eyebrows at him.

"No," Stiles mumbled bitterly. "But we've still got to help him before he goes and makes a freaking deal with the devil."

Charlie narrowed her eyes and looked at him carefully. "We?"

Stiles sighed and planted his hands on his hips. "Yes, we," he said. He jerked his head to the side, indicating down the hallway. "Let's get to work—help Scott get his head out of his ass before he does something else mind-numbingly stupid that I won't be able to fix."

He took off at a fast pace, leaving Charlie trailing after him down the hallway, clutching at her bag. "So what are we doing?" she asked as soon as she caught up.

"We are going to figure out how to help Scott keep from shifting involuntarily," he explained. "That way he doesn't go bat crap crazy and start trying to kill people—me, specifically. It would be really freaking awesome if he stopped trying to kill me."

"So how are we going to keep him from shifting?" Charlie asked, practically jogging to keep up with him.

"Scott keeps saying that he shifts when his heart rate goes up so—"

"So maybe the key to keeping him to stop from shifting is to show him how to control his heart rate," Charlie finished for him.

"Exactly," Stiles said with a nod. "We need to get a heart monitor."

"Damn," Charlie swore, snapping her fingers in mock frustration. "I left mine in my other pair of pants."

"Finstock's got a heart rate monitor linked to a phone in his office," Stiles explained. "We're going to…requisition them for the afternoon."

"You mean steal them," Charlie corrected.

"Well if you want to go and get all technical about it," Stiles said, waving his hands in the air.

The two of them came to a stop in front of Finstock's office in the hall right off of the gym. The door was closed and the lights were out, indicating that the owner was out. Stiles clapped his hands and rubbed them together eagerly. "Let's do this thing!" He stepped forward and went to twist the doorknob, but it wouldn't move. He tried twisting the knob again, more violently this time, but it still didn't budge. He took a step back and rubbed at his jaw, glowering at the door. Charlie stepped forwards so she was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him and tilted her head in his direction. "I think it's locked," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Bzzt!" he hissed, waving his hand and indicating for her to be quiet. He continued to glare at the door like he was trying to intimidate it into opening before lunging forwards again and grabbing hold of the knob. He held onto it, yanking at the door for a few moments before releasing it again. He laughed lightly and pointed at the door. "Okay, it's locked."

"Yeah, no shit," she replied.

He blew out a long breath and winced heavily, squeezing his eyes shut and scratching at the back of his neck. He cracked one eye and peeked at her. "I guess we need a new plan, then."

"You know I do bring something to the table," Charlie replied drolly.

Stiles opened both of his eyes fully and looked at her curiously. "What are you talking about?"

"Keep watch."

"Keep watch for what? Bears?" Stiles demanded, throwing his hands in the air. "We're in a high school, what could I possibly be watch for."

Charlie didn't respond, ignoring Stiles's grumbling. She just pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and held it up for Stiles to look at before dropping to her knees in front of the doorknob. First she snapped the bobby in half. She took one of the halves and bent the end at a right angle to make the tension wrench. She pushed it into the bottom part of the lock and then inserted the second straight part of the bobby pin into the top of the lock. After wiggling it around and pulling at the makeshift tension wrench. Soon enough she heard the telltale click. Smiling to herself, she removed the leftover fragments of the bobby pin from the lock and tossed them over her shoulder. She twisted the doorknob and pushed the door, allowing it to swing open with a loud squeak. She glanced over her shoulder to see Stiles standing there, a hand clapped over his mouth and his eyes wide.

"You can pick lo—how in the hell do you know how to pick locks?" he demanded incredulously.

Charlie got up to her fee and brushed off her skirt. "Once I got locked out of my house and my dad was working the late shift so I had to wait like six hours to get back in. I didn't care for it much and I had a free weekend, so….."

"So you started breaking and entering?" he asked, gesturing at the now open door. "Why not call a locksmith?"

"Okay, a) it's not breaking and entering if you live in the house you're picking the lock to, b) locksmiths are expensive and take forever to get there, and c) aren't we wasting valuable time?"

Stiles opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but his eyes travelled to the open door instead. He leaned far back and looked right and left down the hall before scurrying into the office. "Keep watch," he called over to her as he began to rifle through Finstock's things.

Charlie gave him a salute and leaned against the wall outside the office door, tapping her foot and keeping an eye on the hallway. It took a couple of minutes, a few loud crashing noises, and a lot of swearing on Stiles's part, but eventually he found it. After a loud whoop of success, Stiles's disembodied head stuck out the door, a broad smile on his face. "We good?" Charlie asked, smirking at him.

Stiles's smile grew wider and his disembodied head was then accompanied by a disembodied arm holding a cell phone. "We're awesome." He scurried out of the room and pulled the door closed after him with a little bit too much enthusiasm, giving rise to a loud slamming noise. Charlie smacked him in the chest and he winced heavily, craning his neck to see if anybody had noticed them. The hallway was clear and his shoulders sagged as he relaxed.

Charlie shrugged her shoulders and made a face. "I think we got away with it."

"Yeah, we did!" Stiles said, holding his hand up for a high-five which she promptly gave him. Stiles let out a long breath and planted his hands on his hips and looked Charlie up and down with an appraising expression. "Well, Charlotte," he said sarcastically, punching her in the shoulder. "Who knew you were such a delinquent."

"Hey, I broke and you entered," she shot back. "I'd say that's a pretty even degree of delinquency, and I'm not the one whose dad is the sheriff."

"Point taken."

Charlie glanced down at the stolen cell phone and heart monitor in Stiles's hand. "What do we do now?"

A sly smile crossed Stiles's face. "Now we make Scott mad."

"That sounds ominous. How are we going to do that?"

The smile on his face grew mildly sadistic. "You'll see. Do you have free period next?"

"Yeah…." Charlie drawled out, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I've got to grab a few more things, but you can meet me and Scott on the bleachers on the lacrosse pitch. We'll meet you there in like ten minutes."

Charlie bit her lip and nodded. "Does that mean that he knows that I know?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm keeping that a surprise," Stiles said, his smile reaching Cheshire-cat status. "You were right about the whole me being there thing. The look on his face….it's gonna be beautiful."

Charlie folded her arms across her chest and glowered at him, though she wasn't entirely able to fight off the smile threatening to form. "You are really enjoying this, aren't you?"

Stiles shrugged. "Revenge might be petty, but it feels really good." He draped an arm around her shoulders and sighed, pulling her down the hallway with him as he walked away from the office. "Consider this your induction into the group. Welcome to the A-Team, Oswin."

"Ooh, can I be Mr. T?" she asked, looking up at him eagerly.

Stiles removed his arm from her shoulder and gave her a strange look. "Why would you want to be Mr. T?"

"Well for starters he's great at accessorizing."

"Has anybody told you you're an idiot?"

"Shut up Murdock, crazy fool!"

**Alrighty, so there it is. I'm really not sure how it turned out. I hope it makes sense that Charlie assumes Stiles told Scott about her, even if they were on the outs. I was thinking about previous chapters, and she and Scott really aren't that close. At all. Charlie telling him she was in on the secret would be….problematic since Scott doesn't trust her.**

**Again thank you guys so much!**

**Reviews make me insanely happy, so please review!**


	17. The Devil You Know

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to TameTheGhosts, ScornedxRose, easythrowaway, greenliandakes, prettyargents, Guest/alvirgil, Micaela M (I do care and hope you feel better—virtual chicken soup to you), Sabinaf18, Red red ribbon, Badwolf666, bbymojo, LynZann, and SuperSMA for reviewing. And of course big thanks to the gem of humanity that is BrittWitt16.**

**Okay, so I kind of hated the last chapter. I liked bits of it, but overall I really didn't like it. I guess it's not much of an excuse, but between my job and internships I've worked 21 days straight with no breaks, so I was a bit mentally exhausted. Hopefully this one turns out better.**

**I would also like to take the time to congratulate BrittWitt16 on the completion of her amazing story 'The Wild Side'. It's an incredible accomplishment and if you haven't read it yet, go do so right now! Be prepared to stay glued to your computer screen for hours!**

Chapter 16 – The Devil You Know

Free period. Charlie usually spent that particular segment of the day doing one of three things: studying, napping, or procrastinating. The second two came into play far more often than they should, and the first was generally limited to the day before tests. Needless to say, the hours between 12:30 and 1:15 typically involved a lot of snoring and adorable youtube animal videos on her iPhone. Needless to say, rage-testing a newly turned werewolf wasn't exactly what she considered 'standard' fare for that time of day.

Charlie lay down on the lowest row of the bleachers, crossing her ankles and lacing her fingers underneath her head, music blasting in her ears. The sun was beating down on her skin and warming her from the inside-out. The light was seeping through her closed eyelids, leaving looking at a solid sheet of warm orange-red. To any outside observer she probably looked she was asleep or working on a tan—or, as it would inevitably turn out in her case, a wicked sunburn. But was with all other things in Beacon Hills, there was something going on beneath the surface. There was the smallest twinge of anxiety in the pit of her stomach as she waited for Stiles and Scott to arrive. Whenever she got herself into a situation, Charlie usually made sure she knew what to expect. This time she had no freaking idea.

After a couple of minutes of 'relaxing', she heard the mumbling sound of voices approaching. She quickly ripped the headphones out of her ears and shoved her iPod into the pocket of her skirt, listening in carefully. The voices were distinctly male, and as they got closer she could identify both Stiles and Scott. Swinging her legs off of the bleacher bench, she pulled herself into the sitting position and waited a bit longer, nervously drumming her fingers against the shining metal.

"Stiles, what the hell are we doing out here?" she heard Scott's voice ask from somewhere in the distance.

"What did I tell you?" Stiles shot back, a slight edge of hostility left in his voice. "We're trying to teach you how to control the shifting."

"Yeah, I know that," Scott replied. "You still haven't said how, though."

"It's a surprise," Stiles replied tersely, and with a little bit of sadistic glee.

"And you haven't told me why you need your lacrosse gear."

Stiles let out a sigh of exasperation, no doubt paired with his patented eye-roll. "That's a surprise too. You just need to trust me, all right? It's a hell of a lot better than trusting Derek which your idiot brain seemed to think was a good idea long enough to agree to this stupid freaking mentorship thing."

"Hey what was I supposed to do?" Scott demanded. "You weren't talking to me and it's not like I've got a manual for this kind of thing! There's no Werewolf 10—"

Scott suddenly stopped talking as the two of them rounded the corner onto the lacrosse pitch and he caught sight of her sitting there. He froze like a deer in headlights, complete with those wide, innocent, terrified eyes before looking wildly between her and Stiles. He shot Stiles a questioning glance, but Stiles just smirked back forcing him to turn back to Charlie, gaping slightly. She smiled awkwardly and gave a long wave.

"Hey, Scott," she mumbled, nodding at him.

"H—hey, Charlie," Scott said a little bit too loudly. He tried to smile back, but it was pained—more of a grimace than a grin. "Don't you usually stay in the library during free period?"

"Yeah, generally," she said, pursing her lips and nodding. She glanced over Scott's shoulder at Stiles. He was holding a gym bag filled with his lacrosse gear in one hand, the lacrosse stick in the other, and was grinning ear to ear, clearly enjoying how flustered Scott was getting. Charlie bit her lip to keep from laughing. She knew the situation wasn't funny, but the childlike glee on his face was more than a little bit contagious.

"Wh—what are you doing here?" Scott stammered out.

Charlie opened her mouth to answer, but before she could Stiles chucked the bag on the ground and moved so that he was standing in between the two of them, planting his hands on his hips. "Charlie's here to help," he said, inclining his head in her direction.

Scott opened and closed his mouth a few times, his confusion mounting. "H—help?" he demanded, wincing heavily and rubbing at the back of his neck. "What's she helping with?"

Stiles let out a loud scoff and looked at his friend incredulously. "With your math homework," he drawled out sarcastically. "She's helping with the shifting, you dumbass."

Scott let out a nervous laugh and shot a few sidelong glances in Stiles's direction. "_Dude_," he hissed quietly, leaning into towards Stiles. "What the hell are you doing?"

Stiles smirked and patted Scott hard on the back. "Relax, man. She already knows."

The look that appeared on Scott's face wasn't really all that easy to define. He looked kind of like one of those stress balls shaped like an animal where if you squeeze to the eyeballs pop out. "She WHAT!"

"She. Knows." Stiles said, enunciating the words carefully. "I mean I thought I was speaking clearly—Charlie was I speaking clearly?"

She pursed her lips and shrugged. "I heard you fine."

Scott looked back and forth between them, a shock and terror written across his face. He grabbed hold of one of Stiles's arms and yanked him a few feet away from her to have one of their 'aside' conversations. Charlie honestly didn't know why they bothered with those. Maybe they assumed it was like one of those Shakespearean plays where standing a little ways off and not wanting to be heard automatically meant that the other person in the scene couldn't hear a word of what they were saying. Well whatever they though it didn't work out all that well because she could catch every single word that was being yelled quietly. Scott and Stiles were hunched together in some sort of huddle, talking urgently and every once in a while sending a glance in her direction. Sighing heavily, Charlie reached into her bag and pulled out that Snickers bar she had been saving, peeling back the wrapper and shoving a big bite of gooey chocolate into her mouth. Right now wasn't time for her to talk. It was time for those two idiots to actually communicate properly.

"You told her!" Scott hissed anxiously. "How could you tell her? I mean, I know you were mad at me and everything but—"

"Please, I barely told her," Stiles said dismissively, holding up a thumb and forefinger to indicate.

"How do you barely tell somebody something?" Scott demanded incredulously. "You either tell them or you don't."

Stiles let out a low groan and rolled his eyes. "There wasn't that much left to tell her. She had figured most of it out on her own already."

Scott blinked in surprise and looked over at Charlie, who pressed her lips together in a thin line and gave him a wide, slow wave in response. After giving her a suspicious look, Scott turned back to Stiles. "What do you mean she figured it out?"

"I mean she knew that it wasn't a mountain lion attacking everybody," Stiles said, bobbing his head along with his words. "She knew we were sneaking around the animal attacks—and Derek too. And she knew you and Derek weren't human. Pretty much all she was missing was the word 'werewolf'."

Scott looked over at Charlie again, surprise and concern on his face. "How did she know that?"

Stiles shrugged and made a face. "Pfft, I don't know man…..something called a tapered lightshade. It's in the eyes—" he took a hand out of one of his pockets and gestured at his eyes before shoving it back in place. "Apparently people don't have it but animals do. You and Derek have them—I guess it's some sort of wolf thing. Look, bottom line is we can trust her."

"How do you know that?" Scott hissed back. "How do you know that she won't run off and call the 6:00 news or the cops or something?"

Stiles groaned and rolled his eyes. "And say what? My classmate is a werewolf, better call animal control before he starts marking his territory and peeing on everything?"

"Um, guys?" Charlie said, snapping in their direction, making them both turn to face her. "I am right here. You could just ask me. Open book."

Scott stared at her for a second and then grabbed Stiles's arm again, dragging him a few feet further. "You should have told me that she knew!"

"Well if you would check your damn messages you would already have a pretty good idea that she did," Stiles said definitively.

Charlie, still watching the interchange, moved to take another bite of the Snickers but was instead confronted by a face full of shiny candy-wrapper plastic. She frowned at the empty space where the chocolate bar used to be. It always seemed to disappear so quickly. Well, now there was absolutely nothing to distract her from the whisper-fest going on in front of her. She shoved the wrapper at the bottom of her bag where she would probably find it about two weeks later and clapped her hands on her knees before pushing herself to her feet.

"Guys?" she said, taking a step towards the pair. Neither of them seemed to take notice of her though, still whispering back and forth about her like she wasn't there. Rolling her eyes, she lifted her fingers to her mouth and let out a loud, high-pitched whistle. The sound pierced through the air and echoed across the lacrosse pitch. The two boys finally stopped talking and she folded her arms across her chest, raising her eyebrows at them expectantly. "Don't get me wrong—I'm glad that you guys are talking and all that, but we're kind of on the clock here." She turned to Scott and clapped a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look at her. "Scott, I know you don't really know me or trust me, but I'm not going to tell anybody about you or Derek. All I want to do is help—with the shifting, with Derek, with the alpha, with everything. Believe me. All I want is to make sure that nobody else gets hurt."

Scott looked at her in silence, studying her carefully for a moment before nodding slowly. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay, I believe you."

"Huh," Charlie said, frowning slightly. "Just like that?"

"I was listening to your heart rate," he explained. "Derek taught me—" He suddenly stopped talking and glanced over at Stiles who started glaring at him at the mention of Derek. "Um, people's pulse gets higher and more uneven when you lie. Yours was even—you were telling the truth."

Charlie's mouth dropped open and she looked over at Stiles who nodded in confirmation. She blew out a long breath and pulled at the end of her braid. The idea of somebody being able to read her like that was not comforting. She was more of the 'island unto herself' type and wasn't liking the idea of somebody to build a bridge to her brain. "Well….that's sufficiently creepy," she muttered under her breath. "So you're a human lie detector, then?"

Scott shrugged and nodded sheepishly. "Kind of, yeah. When I'm paying attention."

"So when I tell you that your hair kind of makes you look like a muppet—"

Stiles let out a loud snort and Scott sighed heavily. "I know that you're telling the truth."

Charlie pursed her lips and nodded. "And when I say Stiles is enjoying this way too much and should reevaluate his priorities right now—"

"Hey!" Stiles shouted, cutting her off. "Hey, this is not about me! Let's just—let's just get to work, okay." Charlie threw her hands in the air in submission and Scott nodded. "Great!" Stiles grabbed the gym bag from where it lay on the ground and propped it up on the bench. Scott let out a small smile of appreciation before the two of them moved over to the bag. As far as Charlie could tell, the plan—whatever it was—involved lacrosse and duct tape. Charlie grabbed the duct tape and held it up to the sun, frowning slightly. She was getting the distinct impression Scott was not going to enjoy the plan.

"Okay," Stiles murmured, rifling through the bag. He grabbed what looked like an arm band with a small digital device attached and thrust it into Scott's hands. "Now put this on."

Scott fumbled with the arm band, looking at it in confusion. "Isn't this one of the heart rate monitors for the track team?"

"Yeah, I borrowed it," Stiles said simply.

Scott raised his eyebrows skeptically and let out a light snort. "Stole it," he corrected.

"Temporarily misappropriated," Stiles grumbled. "Coach uses it to monitor his heart rate with his phone while he jogs. You're going to wear it for the rest of the day."

"Isn't that Coach's phone?" Scott asked, gesturing at the cell phone Stiles had just dug out of the bag.

"That we stole," Stiles admitted, glancing up at Charlie. "We got it out of his office."

Scott's frown deepened. "Doesn't Coach always lock his office when he's not there?"

"Yeah, we figured that out quickly enough," Stiles replied.

Scott shook his head in confusion. "Then how did you get it?"

"Well it turns out Charlie here can pick locks," Stiles said, gesturing in her direction.

"You pick locks?" Scott asked, turning to her with his mouth hanging open in incredulity. "Did you like…..steal stuff?"

"Yup," Charlie replied, popping the 'p'. "Just got off a stint in juvie. Mel's not actually my aunt. She's really my parole officer." Charlie couldn't help but let out a laugh at the shocked expression on Scott's face. "I'm kidding, Scott. It's just a hobby. For someone who's a human lie detector you're really gullible."

"That time I wasn't paying attent—" Scott let the protest die on his lips and instead turned back to Stiles. "So why exactly did you guys steal the heart monitor?"

"Well your heart rate goes up when you go wolf, right?" Scott simply nodded in response and Stiles barreled on. "When you're playing lacrosse, when you're with Allison, when you get angry—maybe learning to control it is tied to learning to control your heart rate."

"Like the Incredible Hulk!" Scott interjected. Charlie snorted lightly at the childish grin that had formed on his face. Guys and their comic books. She would never be able to understand it/

Stiles nodded in agreement. "Kinda like the incredible hulk, yeah."

"No," Scott continued eagerly, sounding incredibly pleased with himself. "I'm like the Incredible Hulk."

"I really don't see how being able to compare yourself to an enormous green rage monster can qualify as a good thing," Charlie said, raising her eyebrows at him.

Scott blinked as if the thought hadn't even occurred to him. He cocked his head to the side, considering her words and frowning slightly, and then turned back to her. "But it's the Incredible Hulk," he said as if that explained everything.

"Ugh, would you just shut up and put the strap on?"

"All right, all right," Scott mumbled, lifting his shirt and fixing the monitor in place. When it was finally secured he pulled the shirt down and sighed heavily. "So what now?"

Stiles stood up from the bench and slung the gym bag back over his shoulder. "Now we're going to raise your heart rate."

"And how are we going to do that?" Scott asked.

"I could start singing 'Friday' by Rebecca Black?" Charlie suggested. The two guys looked at her like she had grown a second head, making her fold her arms across her chest defensively and shrug. "What? That song always manages to piss me off." She lifted a hand to begin ticking off options on her fingers. "Other plans include visiting the DMV, setting you up with a computer that has insanely slow internet connection, listening to—"

"Great suggestions, Charlie," Stiles drawled out sarcastically, giving her a thumbs up. "Lots of valuable and useful input. But we've already got a plan."

"And what's that?" Scott asked, wincing in anticipation.

Stiles simply reached into the gym bag on his shoulder and pulled out a lacrosse ball. As he tossed it ominously into the air, the wince Scott's face turned into an expression of horror. "Alright," Charlie said, pursing her lips and nodding. "That's a solid plan. I'm on board with it."

"Um, I'm not!" Scott shouted, his eyes still fixed on Stiles and the ball.

"Do you want to learn how to control it and be with Allison or not?" Stiles said raising his eyebrows at his friend. It only took a few seconds for Scott to cave completely. The Allison card was the trump card, there was no doubt about that.

Charlie sighed heavily and clapped a reassuring hand on Scott's shoulder. "Look at it this way, Scott. At least it's less painful than the DMV."

Rummaging around in the gym bag, Stiles pulled out a roll of duct tape and gestured at Scott to turn around. Scott groaned loudly, but did as he was told and held his hands together behind his back. Stiles began to wrap the tape around Scott's wrists kind of violently, making his friend wince slightly. "Dude, not so tight."

"Tight is kind of the objective here," Stiles muttered bitterly, continuing to wrap Stiles's hands. "We need to keep you restrained in case you do something like try and kill me. Again."

"I'm also not fond of the 'being killed' idea," Charlie tacked on, raising her hand. Scott's head drooped a bit and he nodded, letting Stiles finish up the taping.

"This isn't exactly how I wanted to spend my free period," he said with a nervous laugh, clearly not looking forward to what was happening. Ignoring him, Stiles grabbed the gym bag and lacrosse stick from the ground one more time before taking several long steps back.

"Alright, you ready?" Stiles asked.

Scott let out a bitter snort and shook his head. "No."

"Charlie, you might want to get over here," Stiles barreled on, waving her over. As she walked towards him he pulled out Coach Finstock's phone and punched a few buttons before tossing it to her. Charlie caught the phone easily and squinted at an unfamiliar screen. There were a bunch of distance and time measurements, but the largest figure at the top of the screen read 'Heart Rate (BPM)' which was now resting at a comfortable 62. "Just keep track of his heart rate," Stiles instructed. "It would be good to know when it starts being a problem."

Charlie looked down at the phone and let out a light snort. "Weird."

"What's weird?"

She looked back up at Stiles and shrugged. "We're trying to apply scientific reasoning to the physiology of a lacrosse-playing teenage werewolf. It's just….weird. I mean, what can we explain and what can't we explain. Where's the line?"

Stiles looked up at her from where he was crouched down by his gym bag and frowned. "That was all very deep, Charlie. I'm sure I'll have a grand old time discussing it later, but for now I've got to throw a bunch of lacrosse balls at my best friend's face as hard as I possibly can."

"By all means," she replied, taking a seat on the grass.

Stiles tossed a few balls on the field in front of him and stood up, grabbing his lacrosse stick. "Remember, don't get angry," he called over to Scott. He rolled one of the balls into the net and positioned it over his shoulder, poised the throw. He swung the stick forward without even a second's hesitation and sent the ball sailing into Scott's chest, making him stumble back a feet. Charlie cringed sympathetically, but didn't say anything, instead looking at the heart rate on the phone. "We've reached 115," she called out.

Without another word, Stiles scooped up another ball and sent it flying directly into Scott's chin. "Argh! Okay, that one kind of hurt!"

"Quiet," Stiles instructed. "Remember your supposed to be thinking about your heart rate—about staying calm."

"Okay," Scott whispered to himself, jumping up and down a bit and squeezing his eyes shut to brace himself for the next shot. "Stay calm." Another ball sailed by, just past his ear, and he gritted his teeth. "Staying calm," he bit out a bit angrily. He took another deep breath and started jumping up and down again. "Staying totally calm. No balls flying at my face."

"You don't look calm!" Charlie called out.

"Seriously Charlie? Not helping," he shouted back in frustration, making Charlie grin to herself. She glanced back down at the phone. "We've hit 118."

After a few more rounds in the shoulder and chest, Stiles sent a ball flying directly into Scott's nuts. Charlie let out a spluttering cough as her body tried to simultaneously flinch and bust out laughing. After all, there was nothing funnier than seeing a guy get hit in the nuts. Scott doubled over, his face screwed up in pain. "Argh! Son of a bitch!"

Stiles lifted up his lacrosse stick, giving it an appraising look. "You know, I think m aim is actually improving."

"I wonder why," Scott growled back.

"Ah, ah, ah, don't get angry!" Stiles admonished. "We're at—" Charlie held up the phone for him to look at. "—130 beats per minute. That's a light jog. Suck it up dude." He sent a few more balls flying in Scott's direction before turning to Charlie. "Hey, Oswin, you can go a few rounds if you want in."

Charlie looked up from the phone, a huge smile covering her face. "Really?"

"Sure," he replied with a shrug. "Why not?"

Charlie quickly scrambled to her feet and Scott let out another groan, this time not affiliated with having his nads slowly and systematically crushed. "That's great!" he shouted. "How about we get some more people! Target practice for the whole lacrosse team maybe!"

"This it for your own good, Scott!" Charlie shouted as she walked over to the reservoir of balls Stiles had collected. Stiles took the phone from her and held out the lacrosse stick for her to take, but she shook her head in refusal. "No thanks. I prefer the more direct approach." She leaned forwards and snatched it up from the ground tossing it between her hands for a moment. "Two outs," she narrated, "bottom of the ninth inning, and all eye are on Oswin as she faces down the competition. One more out, and she takes the game." She held the ball close to her chest and drew her left leg closer to her before pulling her arm back. "There's the wind-up." Finally she took a step forward and swung her arm, putting a bit of spin on the ball, and waiting for the angry growl as it collided with Scott's groin. Charlie threw her hands in the air and let out a hiss, mimicking applause. "And the crowd goes wild!"

"Can the two of you stop hitting me in the balls?" Scott called out. "I know I'm too young to be having kids, but I would still like to have the option someday!"

"I need three strikes, Scott!" Charlie replied, picking up another ball and ignoring Stiles's laughing. Two more shots and two more 'strikes' and Charlie backed away from the pile, grabbing the phone from Stiles. "That was fun," she said casually, checking the heart rate which was now at 137. "I haven't hit a guy in the manberries for way too long. You start to miss the feeling."

Stiles shot her a vaguely terrified look as he scooped up another ball in the net of his lacrosse stick. "There's something seriously wrong with you, you know that, right?"

Charlie frowned as she sat back down on the ground. "Only one thing? I thought I was more interesting than that."

It only took about three more shots for something to happen. All of the sudden, the grunts of pain turned into a growl and Scott fell to his knees, leaning over and pressing his forehead into the grass in front of him. Charlie glanced at the phone in her hands. It had been hovering consistently in the low 140s, but all of the sudden it shot up, rising into the 160s.

"Stiles, something's happening," she said, a slight edge of panic in her voice, as she scrambled to her feet. The phone was beeping loudly and threateningly while Scott writhed around on the ground breathing heavily and moaning like a woman in labor. At first it had seemed like he was in pain, but now it seemed like he was about to lose control.

Stiles looked between the phone and his friend. "Scott?" he asked hesitantly.

There was a loud ripping noise as the duct tape binding Scott's arms tore like tissue paper and he lunged forward, digging his fingers into the ground in front of him. Charlie tried to scramble to her feet but tripped, falling back to the ground. Stiles grabbed her hand and helped her to her feet before the two of them stumbled back a few steps. So this was what happened when he turned. She was waiting for the punchline—for claws to erupt from his finger tips and fangs to grow before he came after them. She was caught somewhere between abject terror and excitement for what she was about to see next. She could feel her heart rate spike as well, beating in time with the beeping of the heart monitor, and the breath caught in her chest.

And then Scott's breathing slowed. The beeping of the heart monitor began to slow and the solid red bar began to dwindle.

163

162

158

142

121

99

86

72

A deep, steadying breath issued forth from Charlie's mouth. She stared at the phone in her left hand, carefully tracking the number as it dropped. It had reached 68 BPM. That should put them in the safe zone. She looked over at Scott. He was still collapsed on the grass, but he wasn't spasming in the same way he was a minute ago—instead taking deep, steadying breaths. He was fine. They were fine.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Charlie suddenly became aware of a feeling of pressure at her right hand. She looked down and realized that she was still squeezing Stiles's hand tightly. Glancing up, she found him looking down at her and quickly wrenched it away. "Sorry," she mumbled under her breath.

Stiles just made a face and waved off her apology before scrambling towards Scott. She immediately followed him, crouching down next to where Scott was still sprawled out over the field. Whatever 'attack' or 'influence' he was under seemed to have faded away, leaving him panting on the ground. Stiles reached out hesitantly, about to touch Scott's shoulder, but withdrew, still unsure of his friend. "Scott?" he asked quietly. "You started to change."

"From anger," Scott managed to force out between panting breaths. "But it was more than that. It's like the angrier I got the s—the stronger I felt."

"So it is the anger, then—Derek's right," Stiles said, looking vaguely disappointed at the fact that Derek had been the one with the answers this time.

Scott took a few more gulping breaths and shook his head. "I can't be around Allison."

Charlie, who had been leaning next to Scott's limp form, sat up immediately. "Excuse me?" she growled defensively. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"What, you have to avoid her just because she makes you happy?" Stiles asked incredulously.

Scott looked up at them, a pain and grief etched into his face. "No," he answered quietly. "Because she makes me weak."

"That's total bullshit." The words forced their way out of her mouth almost involuntarily as she glared down at Scott.

Scott's mouth fell open and he looked up at Charlie with a pained expression that under normal circumstances would make her fee sympathetic, but this time it just made her angrier. "It's not like I want to stay away from her," he insisted. "But with everything that's coming for me—I need to be strong."

After letting out a loud snort, Charlie pinched the bridge of her nose and nodded. "I get that Scott—believe me I do. And I know you're in a position I can't even pretend to understand, but there's no use in strength when you can't control it. The Hulk was stronger than Bruce Banner, but he also caused a hell of a lot more damage." She got to her feet and marched away from the two of them, grabbing her bag from where it still lay at the foot of the bleachers and slinging it over her shoulder. She paused for a moment and contemplated continuing on her way to her next class, abandoning Scott and Stiles on the lacrosse pitch, but instead she spun on her heel and walked back up to them. She stopped in front of them, her hand clutching the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles were straining white against the skin.

"Look, Scott," she said in a carefully modulated tone, "the way I see it, life is basically a bunch of tradeoffs. Right now you're looking at two—strength vs. control and all of this werewolf bullshit vs. Allison. My two cents—not that you asked for them—strength is nothing without control. Running on strength alone is what the alpha is doing right now. That's not a road you want to go down. And as for Allison….once you've got something good you hold on to it for as long as you can. Because as soon as you take it for granted, it'll be gone." She finally stopped talking and her anger subsided, leaving her with a feeling of discomfort as the two stared up at her. "Yeah…..that's, uh, that's it." And with that she spun on her heel a second time and made her way towards her next library.

The last twenty minutes of her free period were spent pretending to work on that history assignment of theirs. Not that she made all that much progress. To do a history assignment based on your family, it was generally helpful if you had somebody in your family you could talk to about these types of things. She had prodded Mel for some stories, but her aunt had been hesitant to delve too far and Charlie had let it lie. She had never met her grandfather, but apparently he wasn't the nicest of men. Mel and her dad had tried to get out of that house as quickly as possible—he joined the Coast Guard and she moved in with him the second she turned eighteen before moving on. All in all, there wasn't all that much information for her to work with.

Really, though, it wasn't the lack of information that kept her inactive. She could slap together an A- paper on the history of the Coast Guard no problem. Her mind kept going back to Scott and Allison. It was in the back of her head through her classes. What if he did just suddenly stop talking to her? Allison would end up devastated and wondering what the hell had happened—everything had been so good with them the day before. And Charlie would have the answer, but she wouldn't be able to say anything about it. It would end up being a whole big mess and everyone would end up hurting. It was an all-around sucky situation. And the fact that Scott, Allison, and Stiles weren't in any of her afternoon classes made the whole thing that much worse because she didn't even get the slightest hint of what was going on. It was like solitary confinement. Okay, sure, that was a bit of an overstatement, but that's how it felt for her. Charlie wasn't sure how everything would work out in the long term, but in the short term it meant that she spent the remaining classes doodling pictures of trees in her notebook and begging the most responsible person in the class for notes.

For the majority of the day, Charlie had been desperate to find out how the melodrama was unfolding—whether or not she and Allison would be eating a lot of ice cream and watching sappy movies in the near future. The last bell finally rang and she walked through the halls, trudging down that now-familiar path to her locker. She exchanged the books in her bag for the ones she would need at home, and moved to close the locker door, and as soon as the door swung shut, the clammy face of a very sick-looking Jackson appeared in its place.

"Son of a bitch!" she shouted, jumping a bit. As her heart slowed down to its normal rate, she rolled her eyes and glowered at him. "Was that really necessary, Jackson? I almost peed myself." She paused a moment, her eyes raking over his pale, sweaty face. "Dude, you look like death puked up walking pneumonia." Jackson glowered at her but didn't respond, making her roll her eyes and close her locker fully. "You know I think you could clear that problem up with Lydia's help," she continued, picking her bag from the floor. "Get some of that blush of hers, put some color in your cheeks—you'll be a brand new girl." Jackson took a slightly menacing step towards her, but Charlie stood her ground. She raised her eyebrows at how close they were standing to each other. "Well this is intimate. Is there something I can help you with, Jackson?"

"Yeah," he growled, nodding at her with a venomous smirk. "You can tell me what's going on with those two idiots."

Charlie frowned, looked up at the ceiling, and scrunched up her face into an expression of confused contemplation. "Ooh, I don't know, Jackson. You'll have to be more specific. There area lot of idiots in Beacon Hills, I'm not sure which ones you're talking about."

Jackson let out a derisive scoff. "You know exactly who I'm talking about. What's going on with McCall and Stilinski? I know there's something going on with them and I want to know what it is."'

"Oh, come on Jackson," Charlie drawled out, rolling her eyes heavily. "Are you still on that whole steroids thing? It's time to move on—seriously."

"We both know that I'm not talking about steroids," he said, his smirk becoming more menacing.

Charlie glanced right and left like she was looking out for possible eavesdroppers before leaning in conspiratorially. "Then what are we talking about?" she whispered back.

"Don't bullshit me Chuck," he bit out dangerously. "I know that there's something off with those two."

"Even if there is something, how would I know about it?" Charlie shot back, raising her eyebrows at him.

And then Jackson smiled. It wasn't his typical knowing smirk or even that look of genuine happiness or amusement she saw sometimes when he was with Lydia or Danny. No, the look on his face seemed somewhat akin to the one on the coyote's face just before he thought he had caught the roadrunner. Too bad for him that smile usually preceded the coyote running into a wall or blowing himself up.

"I saw you guys on the field," he said in a low tone. "I saw you and Stilinski impaling McCall. Whatever weirdness those two had going on, you're in on it now too. And I want to know what it is."

"That?" Charlie asked with an amused snort. "That was just lacrosse conditioning. Scott wants to improve his recovery time when he gets hit—call it aversion therapy. It seems stupid, I know. Stiles's idea. And there's nothing funnier than seeing a guy get hit in the balls, so I volunteered my services as well. Now if you'll excuse me—"

She moved to brush past him, but before she got more than two steps a hand grabbed hold of her forearm, practically yanking her back in place. The fingers were squeezing into her skin with a force that was almost bruising. Charlie turned back around to find Jackson staring at her with a strange sort of intensity which, combined with the sweatiness and pallor, made him look slightly deranged.

"You might want to rethink that move, Jackson," she whispered. He didn't let her go, but his grip on her arm loosened slightly. She looked him up and down, taking in his appearance. He looked different—wild-eyed and kind of paranoid. She would never say it out loud, but that look in his eye scared her a little bit. Not because she feared to her own safety or anything like that, but because she wondered how it had got there. For a second she thought about wrenching her arm out of his grasp and marching out the school, but instead she leaned in towards him slightly. "Jackson, are you okay?"

That question seemed like a slap in the face to him. Jackson blinked and released her arm, taking a step back away from her. "I'll see you around Oswin." And with that he turned and walked the other way down the hall, leaving her staring after him.

Shaking her head to reorient herself, Charlie turned the other way and walked out the side entrance of the school. Charlie fished her sunglasses out of her bag and shoved them onto her face, ready to stride over to her car and leave this massively eventful and rather stressful day behind her. But as soon as she stepped into the lot, she found yet another thing to be distracted by.

"Hey, Stiles," she drawled out, sidling up next to the boy, who was currently watching a couple of guys advance on Scott, rage in their eyes and cracking their knuckles menacingly. "Watcha doing?"

Stiles jumped at the sound of her voice and a supremely guilty expression crossed his face as he looked between her and the fight about to unfold. "Wahhhhhhh….hey, Charlie! Nothing. Not doing anything in particular. Just helping Scott out—Ow! My God! Wow!"

A fist connected with Scott's jaw, making Charlie hiss. "Really?" she asked skeptically, her eyes fixed on Scott who was now trying to ram into one of the four guys. "Because it looks to me like Scott is being beaten up right now. You—you wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you?"

Stiles winced theatrically at the scene in front of him and shrugged. "I'm helping him learn control. Apparently Allison doesn't make him weak—she brings him back to himself and—"

"Okay," Charlie interjected, raising a hand to cut him off. "I'm just going to interrupt to be girly and say 'awwww' and then move on."

"Right," Stiles said, cringing as Scott was thrown to the ground and dragged backwards into the trio of guys. "Well now we're seeing if he can hold on without her around."

Charlie opened her mouth to say something, but then flinched sympathetically as the four guys began to wail on Scott. He was curled up in a ball while the three of them kicked at his form. "Are you sure you thought this through?" she demanded.

Stiles didn't answer her. Instead he was making a pained expression and staring down at Coach's phone. Charlie peered over his shoulder and saw that Scott's heart rate was hovering around 100—60 bpm off of disaster. "Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm," he chanted quietly. One of the guys lifted a foot and slammed it down on Scott's torso and Charlie and Stiles both cringed. "Oh, that's not okay," he muttered to himself.

Charlie snatched the phone away from Stiles and stared down at the screen. It his heart rate had hit 127 and was continuing to climb. "Okay," she said, shoving the phone and her bag into his hands. "This has gone on long enough."

She began to march towards the group with determination, leaving Stiles half-whispering, half-shouting behind her. "Charlie! What are—? What the hell do you think you're—?!"

Ignoring him, Charlie continued to march towards the group. "Hey!" she shouted at the group of guys. "Hey, he's had enough, alright?" She gave them a moment to respond, but they kept stomping on Scott's prostrate form. Alright. She had given fair warning.

Charlie ambled up behind one of the guys. He even looked like an ass with his cream cashmere sweater and page boy cap. Charlie lifted her right leg, bringing her foot down hard so it connected with the back of the guy's knee. He let out a surprised cry and fell down to his knees, allowing Charlie the time to lift her arm and slam her elbow down into his shoulder before shoving him to the ground. The other three looked up at her in surprise and she prepared to deal with another one of them, but before it got to that point their gaze shifted behind her. And then she heard a voice she never enjoyed hearing.

"Stop!" Mr. Harris shouted, advancing on the group. "Stop it right now!"

The four guys scrambled away, disappearing into the distance. Mr. Harris came to a stop in front of her and Scott, glaring at the two of them. Scott rolled onto his back and Charlie could finally see the blood pouring from his nose. He finally exited the fetal position, and blinked up at Harris like he was staring into the sun. A hostile, highly judgmental sun. Harris peered down his nose at the two of them and then glanced over his shoulder at Stiles who was smirking and holding up Coach's phone that now read 67 bpm.

"What do you idiots think you're doing doing?" he demanded harshly.

The three of them stood there staring dumbly at him for a few seconds before Charlie raised her hand. "Um, sir, I do believe that Scott was having the crap kicked out of him, I was trying to put an end to the 'crap-kicking-out-of' process, and Stiles was…..watching? Yeah, I'd say that pretty much sums it up."

Mr. Harris raised a single, doubtful eyebrow in her direction. "Is that so, Ms. Oswin? Because I don't recall your summary mentioning anything about a keyed car."

Charlie frowned in confusion. "What keyed c—" she glanced over her shoulder to see a shiny black truck with one long scratch running along its side. Exhaling sharply in disbelief, she looked over at Stiles who was staring back with sheepish look. "Come on, seriously?"

"Just as I thought," Mr. Harris said in that deadpan voice. "The three of you will be joining me in my office for detention." Without another word, Mr. Harris walked off back in the direction of his classroom. Charlie made a face at his back and made a prominent display of her middle finger before turning back to Scott and holding out a hand to him. He glanced up at her in confusion for a moment, but took it and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet.

"You okay?" she asked, brushing away all the dirt and leaves that had stuck to his back.

"Y—yeah," he stuttered out, wiping at the stream of blood that had collected under his nose.

Charlie nodded in understanding and began walking towards the door where Stiles was still standing, holding her bag. She came to a stop in front of him and snatched it away, slinging it over her shoulder and pulling her hair out from under the strap.

"Okay," Stiles said, waving his hands around a bit, "I know I'm probably not your favorite person right now what with the detention thing and all, but I just have to say how awesome that was! I mean, that whole karate chop thing? The guy went down! Like, whashaa!" He mimed a karate chop and Charlie snorted lightly.

"At least someone found it entertaining," Charlie muttered under her breath.

"Thanks," Scott said, walking up to the two of them and looking pointedly at her. "I mean it, thanks. And I'm sorry you got detention."

Charlie just shrugged and jerked her head to the side noncommittally. "It's not like it's the first time." Scott and Stiles looked at each other as if they needed to confirm what she had just said before turning back to her, both of them wearing questioning expressions. Charlie rolled her eyes and readjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "Should I go chronologically or by awesomeness level of the story attached? Let's see…there was that time in eighth grade we had a seriously sadistic math teacher so I snuck into her class after hours and put all her office equipment in jello. Then there was last year in San Diego when I was the last one in the computer lab and changed all of the desktop images to something the school board definitely did not approve of. If you want to take it back to the start I guess I would have to go with second grade. We had this class rabbit named Mr. Fizzles and each weekend one of the students would have to take care of him. When it was my turn I went to the corner drugstore, got some hair dye, and turned the thing green. I could go on, but I think I've made my point."

After she finished her monologue, the two boys were kind of gaping at her. Charlie raised her eyebrows expectantly and gestured to the school. "We should probably go. I mean if we don't want another detention."

By the time the three of them dragged their feet into Mr. Harris's classroom, he had already written the word DETENTION on the chalkboard. Hell, he had even already underlined it. And Charlie could swear that, as they filed in through the door, the smallest glint of happiness flared up in Mr. Harris's eye.

Charlie pulled out her books and collapsed into one of the chairs before immediately setting to work while Stiles and Scott sat next to each at the table in front of her. It was actually surprising that she had managed to get through a full two months of school without a single detention. Before now her record had only been three weeks. But she had promised herself that she would keep her nose clean for Mel's sake, and now she had broken that promise. Not that Mel would know anything about it. She had gone back to the long hours at the shop and kept all of her passwords taped under her desk, meaning Charlie had more than enough opportunities to intercept any message left on the machine or letters coming in through the mail.

The three of them stayed silent enough, except for the seemingly constant tapping of Stiles's pen against the paper of his notebook. Scott was busy cleaning his own blood off of him and Stiles was busy pretending to do work while he was probably formulating new theories about how to control the shifting. Charlie on the other hand was busy transcribing all the copied notes she had gotten that day into her notebook. She was already in detention, Mel would have a heart attack if she fell behind in her classes. After about a half hour, though, Scott cleared his throat and raised his hand slightly.

"Uh, excuse me sir?" he inquired quietly, looking at Mr. Harris. "Uh, I know it's detention and all, but, uh, I'm supposed to be at work and I don't want to get fired. Charlie glanced up to see Mr. Harris's reaction. He just smirked for a moment before turning back to grading papers or drawing pictures of dead kittens or whatever it was that he did in his leisure time. Upon his tacit refusal Scott let out a frustrated sigh and slumped in his seat before looking over at Stiles. "You knew I would heal," he mumbled quietly.

Charlie put her pen down and rested her chin on her hand, observing the interchange as best as she could with the two of them facing away from her. Stiles's head bobbed up and down a few times as he nodded. "Yup."

"You did that to help me learn," Scott continued in a tone that sounded to be equal parts question and statement of fact.

"Yup."

"But partly to punish me."

"H—yeah," Stiles snorted out. "Well that one's obvious."

Scott let out a long, slightly tortured sigh before he continued. "Dude, you're my best friend," he said, an edge of desperation in his voice. "An—and I can't have you being angry with me."

Stiles let out and long sigh as well. "I'm not angry anymore," he bit out, frustration seeping into his voice. He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. "Look, you have something, Scott. Okay? Whether you want it or not, you can do things that nobody else can do… So that means you don't have a choice anymore. It means you have to do something."

The two of them looked at each other and Scott nodded. "I know," he said seriously. "And I will."

"Alright," Mr. Harris called out suddenly from his desk. "All three of you. Out of here."

Well she didn't have to be told twice. Charlie immediately swiped all of the books from her desk and scrambled after Stiles and Scott as the three of them threw themselves out of the room as quickly as possible. They practically exploded into the hallway, but as they reached the door of the school Scott and Stiles both stood still for a moment, sharing another poignant look like the one they had just had in the chemistry room. Charlie almost wanted to roll her eyes. The way guys expressed emotion was so awkward and constipated—she was exhausted just watching it. "This is good right?" she said, punching them both in the shoulder. "I thought I was going to have to go all Dr. Phil on your asses."

Scott and Stiles both laughed lightly, but it was an uncomfortable sort of laugh. And that made Charlie suddenly aware that with her standing there, she was kind of an intruder—an intruder into their friendship and into the world of the supernatural which up until earlier that day had been just the two of them. Charlie cleared her throat and shifted on her feet a bit before looking up at Scott.

"Hey, Scott," she said hesitantly. He turned to her and nodded for her to continue. "It's just—you said that you were late for work. I figured I could give you a ride? I have a bike rack in the trunk of my car, and we probably have one or two things that we should talk about."

Scott glanced over at Stiles for confirmation, a slightly anxious expression on his face—to be expected since he still didn't really have all that much reason to fully trust her yet. Stiles nodded and inclined his head down the hallway, indicating for them to go. "O—okay," Scott stammered out, turning back to Charlie. "Sure, a ride would be good."

"Okay," Charlie sighed out, clapping her hands together. "Stiles—I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?"

Stiles pressed his lips together in a thin line and nodded, giving her a half-hearted salute. "See ya, Charlie. Later, Scott." And with that he spun on his heel and began marching towards his Jeep.

Scott and Charlie stayed silent as he unlocked his bike and they hitched it to the back of her car. They stayed silent as they loaded themselves into the seats. They stayed silent as Charlie turned on the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. And as they hit the open road, it occurred to Charlie that all of the silence was kind of defeating the purpose of the trip to begin with.

"I know I'm kind of breaking into an exclusive club here," she said, glancing at Scott in the rearview mirror. "And I know that you don't know me very well. But whether you like it or not I'm in this now, and I'm in it with you so it would probably be best if we cleared the air and everything. So anything you want to ask me, just ask."

She felt Scott's eyes on her as she drove, but continued staring out across the road. They continued a few more moments in complete quiet before Scott finally spoke up. "Are you going to tell Allison?"

"No," Charlie replied immediately, shaking her head. "No, I won't tell her. But you should know that she's going to find out eventually. Her aunt Kate has been nudging her in the right direction with all these stories about her family. I—I just thought you should know that."

A loud groan escaped from Scott's throat as he ran his hands down her face. "I know," he groaned. "My girlfriend's family is trying to kill me."

"Hey it could be worse," Charlie replied elbowing him in the side.

Scott dropped his hands from his face and looked over at her skeptically. "How? How could it possibly be worse?"

Charlie pursed her lips and shrugged. "They could be nudists or something. If you thought that train wreck of a dinner party we went to was bad, just imagine...Or they could be taxidermists and every time you were at Allison's you would have eerily lifelike dead animals staring at you while the two of you make out in the garage."

Scott stared at her for a few moments in disbelief and then busted out into laughter. "I didn't think I could get any more creeped out. Thanks for that, Charlie. Really, thanks."

"Meh, I do what I can."

They barreled down the road a while longer. Scott was staring out in front of him, an intense expression of concentration on his face. "Did you really figure out the werewolf thing on your own?" he asked. Charlie nodded and he cursed under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Then, realizing that that might have offended her, he shot her an apologetic look. "Don't get me wrong, Charlie, if your on our team I'm glad you're helping us out, but—"

"But if I can find out on my own that means someone else can too," Charlie finished for him. "I'm sure you already know that Jackson's looking into it."

"I know," Scott muttered bitterly.

"He's not going to let go of the whole thing either."

"I know."

"He also doesn't think it's steroids anymore."

"Charlie!" Scott snapped in frustration, gesturing rigidly. "I know."

Scott abruptly switched into broody mode and Charlie opted to stay quiet for a while. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the rhythm of the music. They ran through a few songs not saying anything and then she turned back to Scott. "Can I ask you a question?" she demanded suddenly. Scott gave her a strange look, but nodded. "Does it hurt? When you change I mean? Because in all the movies I've seen it's described as breaking every single bone in your body when you change. Is it like that for you?"

"It hurts—I mean at first it did," he replied quietly. "But it was more like a heart attack. Like my heart started pumping so fast I thought it was going to explode, and then all of the sudden I can see and smell….everything."

Charlie let out a low whistle and slowed the car down as they approached the Animal Clinic. She pulled up in front of the building and idled near the door. Scott clambered out of the car, slinging his backpack over his shoulders and removed his bike from the rack before throwing the contraption back in the trunk. He wheeled around and paused next to the driver's side door, knocking on her window and indicating for her to roll it down. When she did, he leaned on the sill and gave her a meaningful look. "Hey, Charlie?" he mumbled. "Thanks. For everything. And I'm honestly kind of glad that you know. I think we could use someone like you on our side."

Charlie smiled and gave him a salute. "Happy to be of service."

Scott laughed lightly and rapped his knuckles against the car door a few times before turning around and jogging to his work. Charlie smiled to herself and threw her car into gear, ready to get home and start making dinner for her and Mel. But then, just as she was about to pull out of the parking lot, something gave her pause. Parked just around the other side of the building was a shiny black Camaro with a brand new passenger's side window. Her stomach twisted itself into a bit of a knot as she looked at it.

"Shit."

From everything Stiles had told her, Derek Hale was bad news—more so for Scott than for anyone else. The way he told it, it was kind of like Derek was trying to recruit Scott into some sort of cult of lycanthropy where members were required to be lonely, potentially homicidal shut-ins devoid of any human connection. She stared at the Camaro for a minute and then threw her car into reverse, pulling backwards into one of the available parking spots. It probably wasn't the best idea, but she wasn't the smartest of people when it came to regulating her own actions.

She got out of the car and placed a hesitant hand on the handle of the door, pushing it open slowly. The tinkling sound of the bell made her cringe internally, but she still slipped through the small crack she had created. The building was empty and dark, and there was a 'Closed' sign on the door, but she could hear voices in the back. One of them belonged to Scott. The other one she assumed belonged to Derek. He really hadn't spoken to her enough for her to recognize the voice off-hand.

"I'm telling you, he's got something to do with this," 'Derek' growled out in anger. "I asked him if he knew anything about that deer with the spiral in its side, and he lied straight to my face. He's the alpha!"

"Even if he did lie that doesn't mean he's alpha," Scott responded earnestly.

Light flooded out of the exam rooms and Charlie slowly made her way towards it, taking small, quiet steps and staying close to the wall. She peeked around the corner into the room, and what she saw inside made her abandon any pretense of subtlety.

"What the holy hell is happening here?!" she demanded, stepping fully into the door frame.

Charlie's brain couldn't come up with a single reason for what she was seeing. The veterinarian—Scott's boss—was tied to a chair and bleeding from a gash in his forehead while Derek and Scott were arguing next to his limp form. Scott wheeled around, an expression of shock on his face, while a look of sheer rage flitted across Derek's.

"What's she doing here?" Derek shouted, pointing at her. "What the hell is she doing here?"

"Derek, calm down!" Scott urged. "She's okay. She's with me." He turned to Charlie. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw Derek's car," she said, gesturing towards the exit. "What happened to him?"

"Hold on!" Derek interrupted, looking between her and Scott a few times. "'She's with me?' Wait, are you saying she knows? You told her? You and your friend have caused enough problems as it is and you're telling me I've got to deal with another one?"

"Can it, discount Zoolander," Charlie shot back, staring him down. "I figured most of it out on my own, they just gave me the specifics. And I may be a little late to the game, but that doesn't mean I can't play a few rounds."

Derek stared at her with a hostile but dumbfounded look. "What is it with you kids? You all think you know what you're dealing with! The alpha will not stop, and he—" he gestured at Scott's boss "—he is our only connection. He knows about the spiral—he knows about the vendetta!"

"No, he's not!" Scott growled back. "I know Deaton. I trust him." He glanced back at Derek, only to find him now glaring at Charlie. "I trust her too."

Scott went over to the cabinets and grabbed some gauze and hydrogen peroxide, using them to clean out Deaton's wounds. Derek on the other hand was still glowering at her, his teeth gritted and jaw twitching. "You had better realize what you're getting yourself into," he growled nodding in her direction. "Because this isn't a game. It's life and death."

Charlie let out a bitter snort. "Really? All the dead people really didn't make that clear to me." She folded her arms across her chest, mimicking Derek's posture, and squared her shoulders in his direction. "Believe it or not, I get the consequences. For me and for everybody else. And I'll tell you the same thing I told Scott and Stiles—I'm not going to tell anybody and I'm going to help in any way I can." Derek narrowed his eyes at her and Charlie smirked. "You hear that heartbeat. It's steady. So back the hell off of me and go find yourself another chew toy. And now can someone tell me why there's a man bleeding here?"

"He's the alpha," Derek growled.

"No, he isn't!" Scott protested loudly.

Derek's eyes flashed in anger, but he didn't say anything to her. He paced back and forth for a few moments before turning to Scott, who was still tending to the unconscious Deaton. "Do you have a plan?" he asked abruptly.

"What plan?" Charlie interrupted.

Derek glowered back at her, still as angry as ever. "We need to know who the alpha is," he answered bluntly. "If it isn't Deaton, then he can go. If it is Deaton, I kill him. It's up to Scott to prove him innocent."

Charlie's blood ran cold and Scott wheeled around. "Nobody's killing anyone!" He let out a long, slow breath and returned to Deaton. "Just give me an hour."

"Then what?"

"Meet us at the school. In the parking lot."

Derek paused for a moment before storming out the door, leaving Charlie, Scott, and a barely conscious Deaton behind in the room. Charlie leaned forwards, pressing her palms against the cool, shiny metal of the exam table and squeezed her eyes shut. Well, she certainly was being thrown into the deep end. Up until now everything—all of the werewolf stuff—it had been purely speculative, hypothetical. Now it was all suddenly very real. As real as that man in front of her, unconscious and bleeding.

"Is Deaton going to be okay?" she murmured.

Scott sighed loudly and tossed a piece of bloodied gauze to the ground. "Now he'll be fine. But if Derek is convinced he's the alpha…." He let the sentence trail off, and Charlie didn't have to think very hard to fill in the blanks.

Charlie bit her lip and nodded in understanding. Scott wouldn't have to finish that sentence—they weren't going to let anything happen to him. "So what do we do?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know yet," Scott replied.

Charlie sighed heavily and slapped her cheeks to wake herself up. "Well, I guess we've got an hour to figure it out."

While Scott finished treating Deaton, Charlie pulled out her phone, punched in Stiles's number, and pressed it to her ear. One thing was for sure. This was going to be a long night.

**So the ending was a bit rushed, but that's actually what I was going for. Things in this show change and shift so quickly, I kind of wanted to demonstrate that here. Anyways, I hope you like the chapter.**

**Please review! They make me so very happy! Like, you have no idea how excited I get. I jump up and down and stuff, it's embarrassing.  
**

**Finally, it's 3am here, so as per usual I apologize for grammar/spelling mistakes.**


	18. And the One You Don't

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to TameTheGhosts, easythrowaway, ScornedxRose, Guest 1, VeeWillRockYou, katiesgotagun, Guest 2, prettyargents, Guest 3, LynZann, Guest 4, and StardustIsMagic for reviewing. And of course the always awesome BrittWitt16. You guys have no idea how much I appreciate the reviews. I've had some kind of shitty things happening in my personal life lately, but your reviews never fail to make me smile! You are all truly wonderful!**

Chapter 17 – And the One You Don't

Time. It was a concept that Charlie often found herself musing about when she was bored or when she was staring at the clock waiting for the final school bell to ring and release her from the glorified prison that was high school. By definition time was a measurement—a fixed increment—that could be specifically and scientifically defined. Seconds, minutes, hours—hell it was even the only unit of measurement used ubiquitously throughout the globe. Everybody pretty much agreed on the consistency of time. Why was it, then, that her perception of time was so skewed? Hours of a good book or a game of Halo would fly by her without a second thought, but being stuck in a traffic jam or the misery that was Harris's chemistry class would eek by, making her feel like she was stuck in purgatory. There was no consistency there at all.

For Charlie, the hour that took place between her leaving the vet's office and arriving back at the high school could have occurred in the space of a single breath. She left Scott in the parking lot waiting for Stiles to pick him up and sped home, violating all of the speed limits by at least ten miles per hour. She skidded to a stop in front of her house, probably leaving streaks of black rubber behind her and sprinted inside. It only took her about twenty minutes to rid herself of that short skirt, tank top, and converse, instead pulling on a white T-shirt emblazoned with a cartoon cat wearing a mask and cape and the caption 'I'm Your Superhero', some comfortable jeans, a leather jacket, and a pair of running shoes. For all she knew, she might be doing a lot of running. Afterwards she scrambled back downstairs, grabbed a flashlight and some other possibly relevant supplies, deleted the message Mr. Harris had left on the answering machine, and sketched out a note to Mel before throwing herself back into the car and taking off into the darkness.

Beacon Hills High School looked even more menacing in the dark than it did during daytime. While the sun was still shining, the only things lurking around the corners were vindictive teachers, petty students, and the occasional test, quiz, or paper. Now the place looked like it was freaking haunted. Charlie had never really bought into ghost stories when she was a kid. Now she found herself thinking that she should probably have listened closer.

The parking lot was completely empty when Charlie pulled in. For some bizarre reason, she felt like she was standing in a graveyard. But that was just her nerves talking. It was one thing to look at this werewolf supernatural business in the hypothetical, theoretical sense. To be actively participating in it was another matter entirely and to say that she wasn't having one or two second thoughts would be a complete lie. Charlie sat in her car in the center of the parking lot, letting the engine idle and staring at the school in front of her. Time to nut up or shut up. After a few moments, she pressed her foot down on the accelerator and eased her car into one of the handicapped spaces just in front of the school.

After shoving what little supplies she had into her pant pockets, Charlie climbed out of her car and hopped on the hood, waiting for Stiles and Scott to show up. She pulled her jacket tightly around her, warding off the cold. It wasn't long, probably only about five minutes, before the bright, shining headlights announced the arrival of Stiles's Jeep. She took a deep breath as the car pulled up on the other side of the lot and slid off the hood of hers, shoving her hands deep in her pockets making her way towards the two boys.

"This is a terrible idea," she overheard Stiles saying.

"Yeah, I know," Scott agreed.

"But we're still going to do it?" Stiles demanded incredulously.

"Can you think of something better?"

"Well personally I'm a fan of ignoring a problem till it just….goes away."

"Yeah, they tried that with Hitler in the 1930s," Charlie interjected, walking up between the both of them. "He ended up taking over continental Europe. Turns out that strategy doesn't work out all that well when you're dealing with murderous psychopaths."

The both of them started at her sudden appearance, but Stiles seemed especially surprised. He glanced between her and Scott a few times before grabbing hold of her arm and steering her aside a bit. "Um, Charlie, what the hell are you doing here?"

Charlie raised her eyebrows and gave him a pointed look. "Dude, I called you, remember? I already knew that the big confrontation or whatever was going down here. Did you just expect me not to show and leave you two to handle all the problems?"

"Kind of, yeah!" he exclaimed a little too loudly. He quickly snapped his mouth shut and glanced around like he was afraid someone had heard him. Exhaling sharply and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, he turned back to face her. "Charlie I wasn't kidding about this stuff being dangerous."

"Yeah, no shit," Charlie shot back. "Why do you think I'm here? You two idiots need all the help you can get, and quite frankly I have more experience being a successful delinquent than the two of you combined."

Stiles frowned, looking a bit offended at her statement. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Charlie scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. "Well for starters how were you planning on getting in?" she demanded, gesturing at the heavy chains linking the doors of the school together.

He went over to his car and opened the back, pulling out a pair of bolt cutters and holding up in the air to indicate. "I think these'll work out pretty well."

Charlie pursed her lips and shook her head. "Bad move. It'll alert the administration that someone's broken in." She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a small, black leather envelope. "I've got my lock picks."

He gave her a weird look. "Wha—you have lock picks? Where the hell does somebody even get stuff like that? Criminals R Us?"

"EBay," she answered shortly.

"Oh, right, of course," Stiles drawled out with false casualness, waving his hand around flippantly. "EBay. That's where all the best petty criminals get their supplies. One stop shopping—you can get your patio furniture, your back issues of Time Magazine, and you lock picks all in one convenient—"

Charlie smacked him hard in the arm, making him let out a small, indignant cry and glower at her. "Look, Stiles, it'll take half the time and as long as we remember to lock it back up, they'll be none the wiser. Face it. I'm useful. And the two of you have pretty much been making this stuff up as you go along. You need a fresh perspective and somebody with a decent head on their shoulders. I mean did you guys even bring a flashlight to this party?"

A look of frustrated realization crossed his face. Stiles's head sagged and he kicked absently at some gravel. "I'm still not on board with this," he said looking at her seriously. "You could still get seriously hurt."

"So could you," she countered. "What gives you more of a right to risk your safety? And anyways, I could get hurt crossing the freaking street."

"Okay, that is so not the same thing," he mumbled, scratching absently at his forehead.

Charlie took a single step forward and clapped a hand on his shoulder, shooting him a determined smirk. "It's not up to you." And with that she jogged away from him and past Scott, making her way to the front doors. She crouched down in front of the padlock and pulled her lock picks and flashlight out of her back pocket again. Switching the light on, she held it in place between her teeth sot she could deal with the lock with both hands free. It took her about two minutes for the thing to click open. She quickly removed the thing and yanked at the chain, removing it from the handles of the doors and leaving it in a heap.

Stowing her tools, she strolled back over to Scott and Stiles who were currently standing very close to each other and speaking in hushed whispers. "Doors are open," she said shortly, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to indicate at the entry in question. "Now are we going to fill me in on the plan or what? Contributing member here ready to actually contribute."

Scott opened his mouth like he was ready to speak, but before anything came out the three of them were hit by a beam of light. Charlie glanced over her shoulder to see a familiar black Camaro pulling into the parking lot. "He's here," Scott mumbled under his breath.

Stiles rolled his eyes heavily before the three of them approached the car. Derek threw the car into park, spanning several parking spots and stepped out of the car with a degree of broody swagger which one generally saw in people who like to make a dramatic entrance.

"Where's my boss?" Scott demanded hostilely, narrowing his eyes at Derek.

"He's in the back," Derek replied tersely. The three of them walked up to the car, looking in through the back window. Deaton was lying in the back seat, bound and unconscious with silver duct tape covering his mouth and a trickle of blood still flowing from his temple.

"Well he looks comfortable," Stiles drawled out sarcastically, glaring at Derek.

"So we've got torture and kidnapping out of the way," Charlie spat bitterly. "All we've got left is murder and you've hit the trifecta."

"If he's the alpha, we'll be getting to that later," Derek growled in response.

A hostile scowl crossed Scott's face and he glared at Derek. He took another step towards the car and leaned in close, staring at Deaton's crumpled figure. It was clear that Deaton's and Scott's relationship extended beyond the type that typically characterized the employer-employee relationship. Hell, if Charlie had to guess Scott viewed the man almost as a father figure. "Charlie, you have first aid training, right?" he asked, looking over at her with wide concerned eyes.

"Yeah," she said, nodding earnestly. "It's not like I have EMT certification of anything, but I'm a registered lifeguard. I know the basics."

"Could you check on him?" he asked, inclining his head in Deaton's direction. "Make sure he's okay while we—"

Stiles looked like he was about to protest, but Charlie took a step forwards, cutting him off. "Sure," she said abruptly. "I'll be the watchdog. Pun intended."

Stiles let out a slightly disgusted scoff and glared at Derek one more time before turning around and following Scott into the building. The two of them only managed to get a few feet before Derek called out after them. "Wait—what are you doing?" he shouted after them, clearly dumbfounded by their behavior.

Scott glanced back at Derek over his shoulder with an expression that appeared to be less than confident. "You said I was linked to the alpha," he replied simply before turning back to the school. There was a short uncertain pause before he continued. "I'm going to see if you're right."

Charlie watched the two boys as they marched into the direction of the school. Stiles kept shooting worried glances over his shoulder, so Charlie grinned theatrically and waved at him as he walked off. It didn't appear to comfort him all that much though. After they disappeared through that set of double doors, Charlie turned back to the Camaro and reached to open the door to the back seat and get to Deaton, but it was locked. She looked up at Derek, who was still glowering moodily, and raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Do you mind?" she demanded edgily, gesturing at the door. Derek made a face that was vaguely reminiscent of someone sucking on a lemon, but he pulled his keys out of his pocket and punched whichever buttons necessary. As soon as she heard the telltale click of a lock opening, Charlie shot him a withering smirk and wrenched the door open, pulling the passenger's seat forward and sliding into the back herself.

One thing was for sure, Deaton was not in a good way. Once again Charlie reached into her back pocket and pulled out her small flashlight. She reached over to the immobile figure of the veterinarian and gingerly pulled back his eyelids, flashing the light in each of them and watching the pupils constrict. They were relatively unresponsive and uneven in shape. Whatever Derek had done to the guy had given him a concussion—a bad one. Next she reached up to his mouth, slowly pulling back the duct tape to free his mouth.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Derek demanded harshly, his face suddenly appearing in the window.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she replied in a calm tone, staring at him evenly. "I'm getting rid of the duct tape."

"I can see that," Derek growled in response. "Why are you removing the duct tape?"

Charlie raised her eyebrows at him in a judgmental expression. "You gave him a concussion. I need to check his airways. And if he throws up while those airways are obstructed he could choke to death on his own vomit. Do either of those sound like good options to you?"

Derek glared at her for a few more seconds, but then stood up straight again, his face disappearing from its position in the window. After a few more seconds Charlie finished exercising her severely limited expertise and climbed out of the car again. "He should be fine," she drawled out, crossing her arms and glaring at Derek. "Provided nothing else happens to him."

"We'll see about that," Derek replied in an ominous voice.

Charlie rolled her eyes heavily and let out a loud scoff. "For the love of—is this you're only setting? Doesn't all the brooding get exhausting at some point? You really need to find yourself a hobby like miniature golf or knitting. Maybe needlepoint—start stitching inspirational messages on pillows. Something to get you out of your own head. You really take this whole 'lone wolf' lifestyle too seriously. Again, pun intended."

After that outburst, Derek gave her the strangest of strange looks. Or at least as close as he could get to that expression while using the smallest number of facial muscles possible. "You really aren't afraid of me are you?" he asked in disbelief, his tone making it perfectly clear that he thought she was an idiot.

Charlie snorted bitterly and shook her head. "Oh, I'm plenty scared of you," she responded honestly, looking him up and down. "I just know that you're not going to hurt me."

"Really?" he replied, raising his eyebrows skeptically. "And how do you figure that?"

Charlie circled the car so that she was standing next to him and leaned against the body of the car, staring up at the sky. "Because I know what your endgame is."

"And what's my endgame?"

Lowering her eyes from the stars, Charlie stared Derek directly in the eyes. "The alpha killed your sister right? You want the alpha. The alpha wants Scott. It's the transitive property—grade school mathematics. You need Scott to get to the alpha, so you need Scott to trust you. Hurting me would kind of be like shooting yourself in the foot. Counterproductive. Especially since you and I have the same goal."

"So you're saying you trust me," he almost snorted out, raising his eyebrows at her.

Charlie pursed her lips in consideration and shook her head. "No, I don't trust you," she elaborated. "I trust that you will act with regards to your own best interests. As long as you and I have the same interests, we're square. If that changes…well then all bets are off I guess."

Derek took a few steps away from her and stared at the line of trees on the other side of the parking lot. He was standing with a ramrod straight posture, his hands shoved firmly in the pockets of his black leather jacket. Generally everything about him screamed tense, hostile, and standoffish, but Charlie refused to let herself be intimidated by it. When he finally turned around to face her he had a stony-faced expression, his jaw twitching slightly with frustration.

"You think you've got it all figured out don't you?" he growled in a dangerous tone. "But you kids never seem to understand the stakes. You're too stupid or caught up in the drama to see the risks or what being involved with something like this could cost you."

"I know the costs," she bit out, staring at him evenly. "I read about your family."

"Just because you know the costs doesn't mean you understand them," he shot back.

Charlie felt her hands curling into tight fists, her fingernails digging into the flesh of her palms. "Don't talk to me like I don't understand loss," she warned.

"You lost your father," Derek sneered. Charlie felt her spine straighten involuntarily once she heard the words come out of his mouth. Apparently Derek had been checking up on her as well. Fair's fair, but she still didn't like the idea of somebody investigating her. But Derek ignored any signs of discomfort and barreled on. "I lost my entire family—all of them—because of this war. Scott is dating the enemy's daughter and he and his little friend are running around trying to play hero. None of you know what you're doing."

As she listened to him speak, the tension inside Charlie began to build and build, like someone was stretching out a rubber band. And then, all of the sudden, it snapped. "My father was all I had," she growled with an aggressiveness that even seemed to take Derek aback. "You lost your family, I lost mine. Just because what you lost was bigger doesn't mean that you lost more. So don't lecture me on not understanding grief or consequences. I understand the stakes, and that's why I'm here to begin with. To keep other people—the people I care about—from getting hurt. I get that I could get hurt or even die—I get that. And I'm here anyway."

After collapsing back against the car, she blew out a long, calming breath, and tugged at the end of her braid. She would have liked to say that she stunned Derek into silence, but given the fact that being moodily quiet was his baseline, such a claim would have been questionable. "You suck at making people want to trust you. And at positive social interactions in general. Just FYI. You might want to work on that—maybe take some anger management classes or go to charm school or something. Stop torturing people. Generally that's a good place to start."

"It's not like he's innocent," Derek growled, eyeing the vet again. "He knows something."

"How do you know that?" Charlie shot back, rolling her eyes. "He could just be a vet." Derek didn't respond verbally. Instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded up piece of paper, smoothing it out before handing it to her. Looking at him suspiciously, Charlie accepted the paper and looked carefully at the image covering it. It was a printout of a news article with a dead deer laying on the ground, a bloody spiral cut into its side. And then she remembered what he had shouted back at the vet's office. Something about a spiral and a vendetta. Frowning slightly, she held up the article. "Is this supposed to mean something to me?"

"That's why my sister died," Derek replied. "The spiral is our sign for a vendetta. She came to investigate it and the alpha killed her. This means the alpha is out for blood."

Charlie bit down on her lip and looked at him with a harsh sort of sincerity. "I'm sorry to hear about your sister—I really am—but what does that have to do with Deaton?"

"I asked him if he understood what it meant—the spiral—and he said no."

"So….."

"So he lied to me," Derek growled, taking a step towards her and pointing angrily at the photo. "He knew exactly what that meant. He's involved somehow."

"You do know that lie detector tests are famously inaccurate," Charlie replied. "Maybe he was just nervous about the hulking, leather-clad guy with serial killer eyes coming in and interrogating him. Or maybe he just really had to pee. I know my heart rate rises when someone stops me from getting to the bathroom when I've really got to go."

A heavy silence took up residence between the two of them. Charlie wasn't sure where exactly they could go from that point, because Derek never talked and for once she didn't feel like talking anymore. Instead she just kicked at some nonexistent debris at her feet and looked over her shoulder at the doors leading into the school, waiting for Stiles and Scott to show up again. Then, all of the sudden a high-pitched yowling screech pierced the air and echoed through the parking lot, making her scrunch up her face in distaste. Derek's reaction was eerily similar. His eyes fell shut and he cringed as well, only when he did it, it seemed to be more out of pity and anger than anything else.

"You have got to be kidding me," he murmured under his breath, rolling his eyes heavily.

Charlie shook her head in disbelief and stared at the loudspeakers as the sound died out slowly. "That was the big plan?" she demanded, looking over at Derek who was still rolling his eyes at the previous display. "He was just going to call the alpha over here and have a nice little chat? Man, Stiles was right. This is a freaking terrible idea."

"Well if it makes you feel any better I doubt the alpha will respond to that," Derek shot back, still shaking his head at the pathetic display.

"It sounded like someone threw a bag of cats in the drier," Charlie mumbled, snorting to herself. "Permanent press. Or like a dying parrot." She looked at Derek, the seriousness of their previous conversation falling away. "Is it normal for werewolves to sound kind of like Alvin and the Chipmunks at this age? Is there like some werewolf equivalent of guys' voices cracking during puberty?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Derek responded, a look of mild amusement appearing on his face.

"And it sounds like you're evading the questions," Charlie returned, raising her eyebrows. "Did you used to sound like a squeaky chew toy being stepped on? And keep in mind if you don't respond, I will take you're silence as a yes."

"You talk too much."

"And you don't talk at all. Which means between the two of us we almost make a full conversation."

Whether or not Derek was going to respond to that particular line of questioning, Charlie would never know. Because at that moment another sound issued forth from the loudspeakers, and this time it didn't sound like a pathetic, mewling whimper. It didn't even sound human. It was low and guttural, with a power behind it that Charlie couldn't quite wrap her mind around. The sheer force of it sent a shiver running down Charlie's spine. She pushed herself off of Derek's car and turned back to the school. She peered at the building, her eyes straining in the dark, and she was almost certain that the doors were shaking with the intensity of the sound.

Eventually the unearthly howl began to fade away, leaving Charlie and Derek standing in the parking lot, confronted by silence—complete silence—like everything else in the world had come to a halt. She felt oddly hollow, like the sound had made her retreat into herself. Charlie let out a single, slightly shaky breath and looked over at Derek who appeared to be just as shocked as she was.

"Apparently Scott decided to put on his big boy pants," she murmured to herself, glancing over at Derek. "I think he's overcompensating."

The stony, rage-filled mask once again covered Derek's face as he glared at the school. He folded his arms across his chest, adopting an even more hostile posture. Everything about him was tense, and Charlie couldn't help but wonder what it might look like if he snapped. "Idiots," he spat angrily. "That's not just going to attract the alpha."

It didn't take long before Stiles and Scott appeared out of the front door of the school, walking with a jaunt in their step and looking extremely proud of themselves. Charlie couldn't help but roll her eyes at the smugness. Guys. They always had to have something to prove.

"I am gonna to kill both of you!" he shouted, pointing an angry finger at the wonder twins as they approached, self-satisfied smirks adorning their faces. "What the hell was that? What were you trying to do, attract the entire state to the school?"

"Sorry, I didn't know it would be that loud," Scott replied, not looking sorry at all.

"H—yeah, it was loud," Stiles said, not even bothering to fight the smile forming on his face. "And it was awesome!" The last word came out in a singsong voice. Charlie quirked up a single eyebrow, looking at him skeptically and making his face split into a wide grin. He held up a hand to reveal a massive, portable floodlight. "Check it out," he said happily. "Found it in one of the maintenance closets. Who's woefully unprepared now?"

"Shut up," Derek snapped, still glaring angrily at them both.

Stiles's face scrunched up into a disappointed frown. "Don't be such a sour wolf."

Scott smacked Stiles in the chest to shut him up and looked over at Charlie. "How's Deaton."

Charlie shoved her hands deep in her jacket pockets and shrugged. "He's got a pretty bad concussion but he should be fine. Provided nobody starts punching him in the head again any time soon."

But Scott didn't seem to register what she said. Instead his eyes seemed to slide past her, instead focusing on the back of Derek's car. "What did you do with him?" he demanded, looking at Derek accusingly.

"What?" Derek shot back confusedly, turning around to look at Deacon.

Charlie wheeled around as well, taking a few steps backwards so that she was standing next to Scott and Stiles. When her eyes fell on the car, her mouth dropped open slightly and she shook her head in disbelief. Deaton was gone. The front seat had been pushed forwards and the driver's door was wide open, like someone was climbing out and the back was completely empty, no trace of the man. He had totally disappeared. "No, that's not possible," she said, pointing at the back of the car. "He was out. His pupils were uneven, he—even if he regained consciousness there is no way he would be lucid enough or have the coordination to—"

"I didn't do anything," Derek interrupted, looking between the three of them.

And then time folded in on itself for a second time that evening. Only this time instead of speeding up, it might as well have stopped entirely. The moment those words left Derek's mouth, there was a squelching noise that Charlie couldn't quite place. And then as he doubled over, blood pouring out of his mouth, she realized it was the sound of ripping flesh. It was only then that she saw the figure behind him. At first she had thought it was just a shadow, but shadows didn't come with gleaming red eyes. What she was looking at was the live action version of the highly pixilated photo she had found on her phone. And while that photo had caused a small knot of panic to form in the base of her second, it was only in that moment that she truly understood what sheer, unadulterated terror felt like.

She stood there for a moment, completely still and rooted in place as Derek slowly lifted into the air by an eight foot tall man-beast, his arms spread out so that they adopted some seriously warped form of Christ-like imagery. But as much as seeing Derek like that made her want to vomit, it wasn't what she was focused on. The light gleaming from its eyes made it impossible for her to know exactly where it was looking, but she felt like they were trained on her, peering deep into her soul and summoning her worst memories and darkest fears. So she did the same thing she always did when confronted with emotions she had rather not deal with. She turned on her heel and ran as fast as she possibly could.

Charlie had never run for her life before. The closest she had ever gotten was being chased by her ancient neighbor Mr. Hoffman's Rottweiler when she was eight. And then the only thing she got when the danger caught up with her was a face full of drool. But now, as she sprinted towards the school with Stiles and Scott by her side, she felt as if her body was humming. Her fingertips were tingling and the blood was pounding with such intensity that she was pretty sure you could see the throbbing of the vein in her neck.

The three of them scrambled in through the front doors. Tripping slightly, Charlie fell on her side and skidded down the hallway slightly from the momentum. When she managed to scramble back to her hands and knees, she saw that Stiles and Scott were crouched down by the front doors, holding them closed. As clouded as her mind was at the moment, Charlie still recognized that that plan was not a viable one. But she still threw herself towards the door, adding her strength to theirs as they pulled at the doors.

"Lock it! Lock it!" Scott shouted frantically.

"Do I look like I have a key?" Stiles shot back, his voice jumping an octave with the panic.

"Grab something!"

"What?!"

"Anything!"

And then a look of realization crossed Stiles's face. Under normal circumstances Charlie would have been relieved that he had come up with one of his hair-brained yet effective schemes, but this time she didn't get any sense of comfort. He glanced away from Scott and stared into her terrified eyes for about half a second before he stood up enough to peer out the window. Charlie matched his movements, raising her head just enough so that her eyes could peek out the window. Her eyes fell on that pair of bolt cutters he had been waving in her face about fifteen minutes ago. They were lying on the ground at the base of the steps leading up to the doors, just about equidistant between the school and his Jeep.

"No," she said sharply, shaking her head. "No fucking way."

Hearing the harshness of her tone, Scott stood up as well and pushed her aside slightly so that he could see out the window. "No," Scott said, shaking his head as realization hit him in the face as well.

"Where's the padlock for the chains?" Charlie demanded, looking between the two of them. "I left it on the chain, what did you do with it?"

The two boys looked between each other, clearly at a loss, and Charlie swore under her breath. She crouched back down to the ground and raised her hand to her mouth, biting down on her index finger as she thought. Her mind was flying a million miles a minute and her eyes were darting back and forth like she was trying to read a book. Those bolt cutters weren't going to do shit. Give her twenty minutes and some frustrations to work out and she could break through them inside of fifteen minutes. They needed other options. Think, think, think. Just as a coherent thought was coalescing in her head, she heard the creaking of door hinges.

"No!" Scott shouted for a second time, but Stiles was already opening the door and sliding through the small crack he created. Charlie's breath caught in her throat and she swore again. She quickly darted away from the door and into the nearest classroom, ignoring Scott's confused shouts. She grabbed the closest desk and flipped it upside down so the surface of the desk was pressed against the floor and all the legs were pointing in the air. She stood on the bottom surface of the desk and grabbed hold of the legs attached to the cheap wood laminate surface and pushed on them with all her might. After about half a minute and some unladylike grunts the metal twisted free from the desk surface causing her to careen forwards, but by the time she righted herself she was holding a large hunk of metal contorted into a u-shape.

A tiny, satisfied smile pulled at the corners of her lips, but before she could appropriately celebrate her miniscule victory she heard a loud pounding noise.

"RUN!" he shouted in a loud, panicked voice. "RUN!"

Charlie hurled herself out of the classroom to see Scott pressed against the door, banging his fists against the door to warn his friend. It was like fear punched her in the face for the hundredth time that evening. She sprinted back to the front doors, skidding to a stop next to Scott just in time to see Stiles crouching on the ground with bolt cutters in his hand staring directly at the alpha who was crawling out from behind the Jeep. She kept glancing between him and the alpha before his name was torn from lips in an almost unearthly screech. "Stiles!"

It took about half a second for Stiles to snap out of whatever trance he was in and throw himself in the direction of the door. The alpha was running straight for him, and for a second Charlie's heart felt like it stopped. She backed away long enough for him to collide with the door and force himself through before shoving it closed again.

As soon as he made it through, Stiles held up the bolt cutters and shoved them down on the handle bars of the door so that the metal grips spanned the crack between the two doors and held them together. Charlie rammed him aside slightly, repeating the process with the metal she had salvaged from her petty vandalism and leaving the doors much more securely closed.

The three of them found themselves on the floor again, all breathing heavily. After a few moments of gasping for air in the dark, they slowly stood up again and pressed their faces against those small, rectangular windows looking for any sign of the alpha. Charlie squinted into the parking lot, seeing absolutely nothing. Stiles nudged her aside slightly, holding the floodlight up to the small pane of glass and shining it around.

"Where did it go?" Scott whispered breathlessly. "Where is it?"

"You're the one who can see in the dark," Charlie shot back, hitting him in the shoulder. "You tell me."

After a few more seconds of looking, they slowly backed away from the door, still staring at it like they were expecting something to burst through them. Stiles glanced at the solid chunk of metal holding the doors together and then back at Charlie. "Why didn't you think of that before I went out there?" he asked breathlessly, inclining his head towards the door. It was probably meant as some sort of half-hearted joke, but for some reason, it seriously pissed Charlie off.

"You wouldn't have had to go out there in the first place if you had given me like six more seconds!" she shouted. Stiles looked slightly taken aback by her anger and his mouth opened to respond, but before he could Charlie impulsively threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight hug. Immediately his body tensed up underneath, but then it relaxed slightly. She could feel his arms move slightly, about to hug her back, but she pushed him away just as abruptly and punched him hard in the shoulder. Stiles made a pained expression and grabbed at his shoulder where she had hit him. "That's too hard!" he exclaimed angrily. "How can you hit so hard with those friggin' tiny arms?"

"_Never_ do anything that stupid ever again," she growled, staring directly into his eyes. "I know it'll be hard to contain your idiocy, but please do me a favor and try. For all of our sakes."

He stared back at her and the anger in his eyes subsided slightly. He swallowed heavily and nodded, still rubbing at his arm. "Okay, fine—yeah. No more stupid stuff."

"Guys," Scott interrupted, staring intently at the door. "That won't hold, will it?"

Charlie let out a bitter scoff. "I doubt it."

"Yeah, probably not," Stiles tacked on, his voice shaking slightly with the anxiety

The three of them twisted their necks around, taking in their surroundings. Charlie decided that she hated school after hours even more than she hated it while she was in class. The hallways were dark and still and every flickering shadow or creaking noise made her fear for her life. The only real source of light was Stiles's floodlight which was currently dangling from his hand, sending a beam of light flying around in random directions.

"You should probably turn that off," she said, gesturing at the light. "It could give away our location."

"Right," he murmured, lifting it up and flipping the switch.

Now they truly were in the dark. But they still weren't alone. A loud, eerie howl emanated from somewhere in that maze of halls reverberating against the lockers as it reached their ears. The three of them looked at each other one more time before they took off running. They flew into one of the classrooms and Charlie came to a halt. Where the hell were they supposed to go now?

"The desk!" Stiles shouted anxiously. Unthinkingly, Charlie threw herself against the chunk of metal and wood, trying to push it towards the door. It scraped loudly against the floor, but before any real progress was made Stiles lifted a hand. "Stop, stop, stop," he said in a harsh whisper, glancing over his shoulder. "The door's not going to keep it out."

"I know," Scott said breathlessly.

"It's your boss," Stiles blurted out.

"What?" Scott demanded, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"Deaton's the alpha," Charlie prompted, looking at Scott pointedly.

"No!" Scott shouted.

"Huh—yes," Stiles said, nodding almost violently and pointing a finger at Scott. "Deaton? The alpha? Your boss!"

"NO!" Scott shouted again, even more desperation filling his tone.

"Yes," Stiles shot back. "Murdering, psycho werewolf!"

Scott's eyes widened in sadness and disbelief. "That can't be!"

"Oh, come on," Stiles bit out, sneering slightly. "He disappears and that thing shows up ten seconds later to toss Derek twenty feet through the air? That's not convenient timing? Plus you heard what Charlie said! There's no way a normal person could've just gotten up and walked away!"

"Charlie's not a freaking doctor!" Scott growled. "She could be wrong!"

Charlie felt her jaw clench and she squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Scott. But seriously, none of this is relevant right now! We can find out whether or not Deaton is the alpha later—shove some wolfsbane in his morning coffee or something. In the meantime I'd very much like to focus on the 'not getting killed' part of this evening's agenda!"

Neither of them seemed to hear her, though, instead continuing to stare at each other and bicker from opposite sides of the desk. "It's not him!" Scott barreled on, maintaining his constant stream of denials.

"He killed Derek," Stiles insisted.

"Wh—Derek's not dead," Scott spluttered out. "H—he can't be dead!"

"Blood spurted out of his mouth, okay?!" Stiles almost shouted. "That doesn't exactly qualify as a minor injury! He's dead, and we're next!"

"Jesus, Stiles, have you ever heard of the power of positive thinking?" Charlie hissed, finally managing to get the boys' attention. "How about stop talking about how we're all about to die and—oh, I don't know—figure out how to not die? How does that sound to everyone?!"

Scott shook his head, trying to break himself out of the swirling vortex of speculation regarding Deaton and the alpha and glanced between her and Stiles. "Okay, okay!" he shouted anxiously. "What do we do?"

Stiles's knuckles were turning white he was gripping the sides of the desk so tightly and his breaths were coming out in heavy pants. "We get to my Jeep or Charlie's Impala," he said with determination. "We get out of here. You seriously think about quitting your job. And then we skip off into the sunset and all live happily ever after, how does that sound—does that sound good?"

Stiles switched the floodlight back on and ran towards the window with Charlie and Scott trailing after him. Charlie grabbed onto Stiles's shoulder, her hand fisting the material of the jacket as she peered out the window next to him. Stiles Jeep was the closest to them—about a hundred yards—with Derek's Camaro right behind it. Scott immediately reached for the window's latch trying to open it, but Stiles pushed his hand away. "No, they don't open. The school's climate controlled."

Scott looked over at them with wide eyes. "Then we break it."

"Which will make a lot of noise," Stiles countered.

"Then….." Scott's voice trailed off as he pressed his face closer to the glass, looking around for more possibilities. "Then we run really fast," he finished weakly. Charlie gave him a skeptical look and he winced slightly. "_Really_ fast."

"My car's on the other side of the lot," Charlie murmured, pointing in the direction of the Impala. "It's too far off—nowhere near close enough for us to make it."

"Right," Scott continued, nodding. "Right, well then we'll just have to take…" He fell silent mid-sentence yet again as he stared out the window, squinting into the dark. "Stiles, what's wrong with the hood of your Jeep?"

"What do you mean? Nothing's wrong," Stiles blurted out instinctively.

"It's bent!" Scott insisted.

"What like dented?" Stiles asked, lunging forward and forcing Charlie to release her hold on his jacket.

"N—no, I mean _bent_!" Scott insisted.

Charlie yanked the floodlight out of Stiles's hands and held it up so that it shone on his car. The light mostly dissipated before reaching the vehicle, but she could see that the pale blue metal of the hood had been pried up, leaving a gaping hole. "Shit," she muttered under her breath before turning back to the other two. "It looks like something ripped into your engine block."

"What?" Stiles demanded, grabbing back the floodlight and trying to get a closer look at the damage. "What the hell happ—"

His question was cut off by an ear-splitting crash as something flew through the window right above their heads. The three of them slid down to the ground, throwing their arms over their heads to protect from the shattered glass raining down on them. Charlie was a little bit too slow and a small piece caught her on the cheek, slicing the skin so that it stung against the cool air. Pushing herself up so that she was sitting against the wall she shook the shards of glass from her hair and looked at the projectile. It was a rusted black box with wires protruding from it. Any hope that Charlie may have held for getting out of that building in one piece was completely and irrevocably dashed, all because of that one stupid black box.

"Shit."

Tearing her eyes away from the hunk of metal, she looked over at Stiles. He was staring at the thing with an expression s could only assume was identical to the one she was just wearing, only tinged with more grief given that his car had just been mauled. Scott glanced back and forth between the two of them almost frantically, clearly not picking up on what was happening.

"That's your car battery, isn't it?" Charlie asked quietly.

Stiles nodded slowly, never looking away from the thing. "Yup."

Charlie closed her eyes and wiped away the trickle of blood streaking down her cheek.

"I guess it's time to think of a plan B."

**Bum Bum BUMMMMMMMMMMM! And there it is, the beginning of what is possibly the darkest episode of the season. The next chapter or two might not be all that funny, and I fully intend on putting Charlie through a lot. I think there's going to be a bit where she gets separated from the guys and is stalked by the alpha and tries to set up diversions and stuff. Fun times (but not really).**

**Please review. The muse has broken out of the basement, devoured everything in my fridge, and is currently eyeing my pet cat. I don't trust her not to do something horrific. Kinda like ALF, if any of you get that reference (which you probably shouldn't seeing as it's from a TV show older than I am). Anywho, please review.**


	19. Night School

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to Guest, alvirgil, .lover, ScornedxRose, easythrowaway, katiesgotagun, TameTheGhosts, FetusPosey3 Skittleslover3, cat-afterlife, Jessiscrazy9108, Micaela M, TheMMMG, LynZann, and Lee for reviewing. And the perennially awesome BrittWitt16.**

**Alright, guys. Buckle up, because shit is about to get real.**

Chapter 18 – Night School

What happens after you die?

Charlie had thought a lot about that question, even before everything with her dad. Maybe it was a bit morbid for a teenager to contemplate the nature of death and the afterlife, but she had gone through an embarrassing faze a few years back where she listened to a lot of Evanescence and topic had come up more than a few times. When it came down to it, she decided that people were just flesh-suits. That everything about them—their consciousness, their personality—all that special stuff that made them who they were ultimately boiled down to synapses firing in the brain, neurotransmitters, that kind of thing. It might sound strange, but she kind of liked it that way. There was no giant cosmic plan—everybody was just a product of their biology and their experiences. It meant that she could take credit for herself, warts and all, during her short stint on planet earth. Usually that thought was kind of comforting to her, but in that moment, as she stared at the mauled car battery lying a few feet off, she kind of wished that there was some unseen force to take care of her.

"We have to move," Stiles said urgently, breaking Charlie out of her anxiety-ridden stupor.

"He could be right outside," Scott hissed trying to keep Stiles pinned to the wall, out of sight of anything that might be lurking outside the window.

"He _is_ right outside," Stiles countered.

Scott glanced anxiously between the battery and Stiles a few times before looking up at the window. "Just—just let me take a look."

Scott shifted so that he was kneeling down and slowly peeked over the window ledge, looking for any potential danger. Swearing under her breath, Charlie did the same. From what she could see, the parking lot was completely clear. Not a single murderous werewolf in sight. Her eyes slowly scanned the surroundings, eventually focusing in on her car far off on the other side of the parking lot. It was sitting lower than usual, and the base of the tires looked sad and deflated. And then a feeling of unmitigated rage swept through her.

"That son of a bitch slashed my tires!" she growled. "There was no way we were going to get to that car! That's not strategic, it's freaking petty!"

"Okay, Charlie, that is so not the priority right now," Stiles murmured, shaking his head at her. He looked up at Scott. "Anything?"

Scott let out a long, slow breath and shook his head. "No."

"Move now?"

Scott stared back down at them with those wide, terrified eyes of his and nodded. "Move now."

The three of them scrambled to their feet and darted out of the room, bits of broken glass crunching under their feet as they moved. As they moved into the hallway, Charlie realized that Stiles's floodlight was still on and he was waving it back and forth, casting a harsh beam of light across the lockers.

"Dude," she whispered, smacking him in the arm. "What did I say about the flashlight? It totally gives away our position."

"Yeah, sorry," he shot back sarcastically, "but us running for our lives becomes exponentially harder when we can't even see where we're going!"

Charlie bit back her typical snarky reply and took small, careful steps down the hallway. So this was what being hunted for sport felt like. Every flicker or shadow the she saw seemed to jump out at her, ready to attack. Man, she wished she had a gun. And that she actually knew how to shoot. Self-defense training was great and everything, but the only time it came in useful was when the attacker was close up enough to actually attack you. And Charlie had absolutely no intention of getting that close to the alpha. Especially since a thumb-lock and plucky attitude probably wouldn't help her when her adversary had massive fangs and claws.

"Scott, how do you hunt?" she whispered quietly.

"Wh—what do you mean?" he stammered out breathlessly.

"We need to know what we're dealing with," she whispered back. "When you go full-on wolf, how do you hunt? Sight, sound, smell—how do you track your prey?"

Scott slapped a hand to his forehead and shook his head in confusion. "I—I don't know. Everything, I guess. But that first night when I went after Allison, I ended up running around in the woods where Derek put her jacket." He turned right, taking a few steps down the hall. "This way."

"No, no, no, no," Stiles said, holding out an arm to stop him from going any further.

"What?" Scott demanded harshly.

"We need to go somewhere we'll be hard for the alpha to detect," Charlie interjected.

"Somewhere without windows," Stiles added, nodding slightly.

"Every single room in this building has windows!" Scott exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

"Or somewhere with less windows," Stiles prompted.

Charlie bit her lip in thought and bounced up and down on her heels slightly. They needed a room with few windows and they needed to be able to mask their scent, or at least confuse the alpha as it tried to track them down. And then it occurred to her. She looked up at Stiles with wide eyes.

"The locker room!" they both said in unison.

The three of them stared at each other for a moment, seeking confirmation, before taking off down the hallway. Charlie didn't give that men's sign a second thought as she hurtled through. As soon as they were all safely situated on the other side of the door, Scott slammed it shut and threw the latch closed, locking them in. Charlie bent over at the waist and sucked in some long, calming breaths, willing her racing pulse to go down to its normal rate. Once it had almost returned to its baseline, she stood up straight and looked around her at the maze of tile and metal lockers.

As far as their limited options went, the locker room was probably the safest bet. Any windows were small—to small for the alpha to fit through— high off the ground, and covered in a mesh screen. And if there was any place for them to mask their scent, the boy's locker room was definitely the right place. The air was still and humid, making her feel like she was walking through a cloud of sweat, the stench of old socks, and those overpowering scented sprays that generally made her feel like she was being suffocated by Drakkar Noir.

"What the hell do you guys do in here?" she whispered incredulously as they walked., kicking at an abandoned crusty old sock lying in the center of the room. "It smells like a raccoon crawled in here and died, and instead of getting rid of it you decided to spray it with Febreeze."

"That's the smell of man," Stiles hissed back. "And can you focus here? It's not like we're trying not do die or anything."

Charlie exhaled sharply and shoved her hands in her pockets. "Sorry. Whenever I get freaked out I make idiotic jokes to diffuse the situation. Not so useful right now."

"Call your dad!" Scott blurted out, looking earnestly at Stiles.

"And tell them what?" Stiles shot back, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren't followed.

"I don't know—anything!" Scott said, desperation edging into his voice. "That there's a gas leak, a fire, whatever! If that thing sees the parking lot filled with cop cars, it'll take off!"

"We don't know that for sure," Charlie hissed, approaching the boys so that they were in a panicked huddle. "I mean look at all the crap it's pulled so far. Whoever the alpha is, they don't seem to be a big fan of subtlety."

"Yeah, what if it doesn't leave?" Stiles tacked on. "What if it goes completely Terminator and kills every cop in sight, including my dad!"

"They have guns!" Scott countered.

"The alpha has freaking superpowers!" Charlie said, smacking Scott in the shoulder. "From what I've heard so far, guns don't work all that well!"

"Derek had to be shot with a wolf-bane-laced bullet to even slow him down—you remember that?" Stiles demanded, gesturing angrily at his friend.

Scott let out a long, uneven breath and shook his head, still racking his brain for options. "We—we have to….we have to find a way out and just run for it."

"There's nothing near the school for at least a mile," Stiles argued.

Scott's shoulders sagged slightly in defeat. Then a look of realization crossed his face brightened slightly. "What about Derek's car?"

"That could work," Stiles said, nodding slightly. "We go outside, we get the keys off his body—guh—and then we take his car!"

"And him," Scott insisted, raising his eyebrows slightly. Stiles rolled his eyes in frustration, but nodded anyway. "Fine," he bit out in exasperation. "Whatever."

Without another word the three of them marched towards the door, Stiles still swinging the floodlight all over the place. Stiles stepped forwards and reached out to grab the door handle, but before his hand closed around it, Scott's shot forward and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling the hand back. "What?" Stiles whispered, glancing back at his friend.

Scott was frozen in place, his eyes darting right and left with a look of extreme concentration on his face. "I think I heard something."

"Something like what?" Charlie asked nervously. "Like a mouse or like a rampaging werewolf?"

"Quiet!" Scott hissed back, raising a hand to shut her up. The three of them began to take careful steps backwards, their eyes never leaving the door and waiting for whoever was causing that sound—which Charlie still couldn't quite hear—to come bursting through. Charlie glanced down to see that Stiles was still swinging the flashlight around, advertising their location, so she roughly yanked it out of his hands and turned it off. Scott wrenched his gaze away from the door and looked over at the two of them. "Hide."

Stiles and Charlie exchanged a look and immediately ran for a set of nearby lockers. Stiles immediately disappeared into his and Scott protested for a moment, but the sound of approaching footsteps prompted him to find a locker of his own. Charlie on the other hand wasn't quite so lucky. Her locker was actually locked. "Shit, shit, shit," she chanted softly under her breath as her nervous fingers fumbled with the latch. She quickly abandoned that locker, moving to find a new one, but before she could the door to Stiles's locker swung open again. He reached out and grabbed hold of her arm, yanking her in after him and pulling the door shut again.

"Stiles! What are you—?!" She was promptly cut off as his hand flew up and covered her mouth, forcing her to stop talking. It was a tight fit inside the locker, the two of them squeezed in like sardines in a can with their backs pressed up against the metal—her leaning against the door and Stiles shoved into the back of the locker—no room to move, and nowhere to look but at each other. Charlie glanced up at Stiles's face and he looked just about the same as she was sure she did. Terrified.

Not three seconds after Charlie managed to squeeze into that tight space, the door to the locker room creaked open and someone stepped inside. They were taking slow, ominous steps, each one echoing against the tile. Stiles's breath hitched, coming out in loud gasps, and she could practically feel his heart racing. Charlie's hand shot up, so that she could cover his mouth and stifle the noise. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Each footstep brought the person closer to them. Charlie's eyes widened even further as panic flooded through her. She and Stiles stared at each other, trying really, really hard not to freak out. A shadow flitted past the slats in the front of the locker, making her stomach clench. Charlie squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on the inside of her cheek, causing her mouth to fill with the taste of blood. She was going to be killed in the boy's locker room, surrounded by damp towels and crusty socks. What a freaking undignified way to go.

Stiles glanced over her shoulder through those small slats to get a better look at what was happening outside the locker and a strange look crossed his face. Then, all of the sudden, a small screech that definitely did not belong to a werewolf ripped through the locker room. Stiles reached around her to undo the latch and the door to the locker flung open. Charlie stumbled out backwards, her back colliding into something solid. She quickly wheeled around to see what she had hit, and it was none other than the school janitor.

"Sh! Sh! Sh!" Stiles urged, patting him on the shoulder.

"Quiet!" Scott hissed loudly.

"Quiet my ass!" he shouted, looking between the three of them wildly. "What are you trying to do—kill me?"

"No, that's the other guy," Charlie whispered, giving him a panicked look.

He wrinkled his nose and stared at her with disbelief. "What are you—? Okay. You three, get out."

"Just—just listen for half a second, okay?" Stiles begged.

"Not okay!" the janitor shouted, looking between the three of them. "Not okay! Get the hell out of here right now!"

The janitor pushed Charlie towards the door before grabbing Scott and Stiles by the back of their jackets and herding them out as well. Charlie tripped into the hallway, soon to be followed by Scott and Stiles. The janitor shoved them forwards forcing Stiles to ram into Charlie. Stiles grabbed her shoulders, steadying her, before rounding on the janitor.

"Please just give us one second to explain!" Stiles pleaded.

"Just shut up and go!" he shouted, pointing an angry finger down the hall.

No sooner had the words left his mouth, a roar erupted from somewhere behind him and the janitor was sucked backwards into the locker room and the door slammed shut behind him. Charlie wanted to scream, but the breath caught in her chest. She instinctively threw herself backwards, colliding with the wall behind her. Ear-splitting screams rang out and then he was thrown forwards, colliding with the door and surrounded by a splattering of red like a fatal Jackson Pollack painting. The figure, slid down the door, disappearing from view, only to be thrown against the surface again, beating his hands weakly against the glass and begging for help that wasn't coming. She was listening to the last words of a dead man.

Scott threw himself forward, grappling with the handle of the door, desperately trying to open it and get to the man on the other side. That's when Charlie's brain started to function again. She threw herself forward and grabbed hold of Scott's shoulder, trying to force him back.

"It's no use—he's already dead!" she pleaded.

Moments later, Stiles rushed forwards as well, shoving Scott away from the door and half-dragging him down the hallway. "Let's go!"

Charlie ran after the boys, but paused right before she turned the corner, and affording one last glance behind her. The alpha had thrown the janitor into the door with such violence, the then had ripped off its hinges and the man was lying on the ground. He wasn't moving. Then a clawed, dark-skinned hand reached forward and encircled the man's ankle. With one quick yank, the corpse slid backwards into the locker room, disappearing from sight. Swearing under her breath, Charlie took off at a dead sprint.

A few seconds later, she caught up with the guys at the front doors leading onto the parking lot. They were throwing themselves against the metal surface, trying to force them open, but to no avail. It would move a few inches, but then collided with something heavy and solid.

"What the hell?" Scott demanded. He pushed the door open the small amount that it would move and stuck his head out the crack formed. "It's a dumpster," he whispered.

"He pushed it in front of the door," Stiles stammered out in a tone of panicked realization. "To block us in…." Stiles began throwing himself into the door over and over again, desperately trying to make the crack open just a little bit wider. "Come on, help me!" he murmured weakly.

Shit. Charlie recognized that sort of pathological, futile, repetitive behavior. Those were the early signs of a panic attack. And while they had plenty of reason to panic, they needed Stiles to be thinking straight. She needed him thinking straight.

"Stiles," she said in a low, urgent tone. She grabbed onto his shoulder and spun him away from the door sot that he was facing her. She gripped his shoulders and forced him to look at her. "Stiles—Stiles you need to calm down. Quick, shallow breaths." Stiles's eyes snapped to hers and she nodded slowly at him as he began to breathe through the panic.

"Guys, we've got to go!" Scott shouted, grabbing them both by the arm and yanking them after him up the stairs.

They marched down the second floor hallway, eyes roving and straining against the dark for any sign of the alpha. Charlie stole a few sidelong glances at Stiles. His face was in a rigid mask, but she could see the anxiety still swirling underneath the surface. And he was still taking quick, shallow breaths.

"I'm not dying here!" he finally exploded, his voice cracking slightly under the pressure. "I'm not dying at school!"

"We're not going to die," Charlie and Scott said in unison.

"How do you know that—you don't know that!" Stiles barreled on, waving the floodlight about.

"Power of positive thinking, Stiles," Charlie murmured. She had hoped to sound reassuring, but all she sounded was unsure.

"What is it doing? What does it want?" Stiles cried out.

"Me!" Scott said, pointing at himself. "Derek says it's stronger with a pack."

"Oh, great!" Stiles drawled out, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. "A psychotic werewolf who's into teamwork. That's—that's beautiful."

"Why couldn't he just do trust falls like all the other team building workshops?" Charlie murmured to herself.

Walking quickly to keep up the pace, Charlie pulled her jacket in closer around her. Like that flimsy layer of leather was somehow going to protect her against razor-sharp claws. She glanced out the window and suddenly froze mid-step, her eyes focusing on one point in particular. Scott and Stiles carried on a few more steps before they realized that she had dropped out of line with them and then turned back to face her.

"Charlie?" Stiles asked tentatively, walking back over to her. She didn't respond. Instead she lifted a single hand and pointed out the window at the roof opposite them. The alpha was standing there, staring at them like they were its prey. Suddenly, it started to move. At first the steps were small—a gradual approach—but then it took off in a gallop, heading straight for them.

"Run!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, sprinting back the way they had come. It was only about ten seconds before the wall of windows lining the hallway shattered. This time Charlie didn't look back. She already knew what she would see—the alpha chasing them down. Instead she channeled every ounce of strength she had into running, flying down the stairs to the bottom floor.

"This way!" Scott shouted over his shoulder, dodging through a set out double doors Charlie had never even registered before, let alone walked through.

Somehow they managed to find themselves in the sub-basement of the school. It looked like it was largely a storage area. The floors were a cracked, dirty concrete and there was a row of ancient lockers, covered in cobwebs. The three of them dodged behind the furthest row of lockers. Charlie stood between the two boys, staring straight ahead and pressing herself as close to the lockers as she could, like she was willing herself to melt into them and disappear.

A low growl indicated that the alpha had followed then into the basement. A small scream threatened to burst forth from Charlie's mouth, but she headed it off by shoving her fist in her mouth and biting down hard. The small degree of pain she felt drew her mind away from the panic and focused her on something else. The alpha's footsteps became quieter and moved further again. Charlie pursed her lips in a small 'o' and breathed out slowly while Stiles and Scott were having a frantic, silent conversation. After a few moments Stiles smacked on the shoulder and jerked his head to the left, indicating for them to move. Charlie nodded and scampered after him, careening through the cloud of steam created by the boiler.

It was almost comical how much running they were doing. If somebody had just sat down and watched their evening, it would probably have resembled one of those Benny Hill chase sequences set to that ridiculous music or an episode of Scooby Doo. No matter how much running they did, they never seemed to get anywhere and always ended up in the exact same place. She wanted to say that one day she would look back on this day and laugh, but she seriously doubted that that was the case. No, this would be one of the days she wanted to forget but would always remember when it cropped up in her nightmares. As she, Stiles, and Scott made a beeline for the door, the alpha roared loudly, making them all spin on their heels to turn and face it. Her eyes darted around, scanning for a threat and an exit.

"Alright, we have to do something," Stiles said, his eyes fixed on the direction of the noise.

"Like what?" Scott breathed out.

"I don't know," Stiles replied, shaking his head frantically. "Kill it, hurt it, inflict mental anguish on it—something!"

Charlie, who was slowly backing away from the source of the noise, backed into a desk, making her jump. Swearing under her breath, she lifted a hand to her forehead, pushing the hair out of her face. "What the hell kind of plan can we come up with here?" she hissed back. "It's not like we've got a lot to work with." She glanced up at Stiles. This time, instead of panic written all over his face, she could see an idea forming behind those big, brown eyes of his. "Stiles, what are you thinking?"

He held up a hand, indicating for her to wait and shoved his hand into his jacket pocket. Charlie's eyes flickered between his hand and his face, wondering what the hell kind of half-assed plan he had worked out to get them out of this mess. Because whatever it was, there was a 90% chance she was not going to like it. And then she heard the clinking of his keys as his hand tightened around them.

"No way!" Scott hissed, realizing what his friend was planning. "No freaking way."

Stiles shushed Scott and slowly pulled his keys out of his pocket. Charlie stood there, completely still, her eyes focusing in on the hulking shadow that was cast on a nearby wall. The massive blob was slowly shrinking in size as the creature casting it came closer. Roughly shoving Charlie behind him, he lifted up the keys, cringing as they jangled. Then, all of the sudden, he tossed them into boiler room, letting them hit the ground with a loud clanking sound.

The ground shook under her feet as the alpha hurtled itself towards sound. Stiles threw an arm out across Charlie's chest, partially to cover her and partially to hold her back, as the alpha ran by them. Then, the second the massive beast was inside the boiler room, she and Stiles both ran forwards, ramming their shoulders into the desk and holding it shut. The door rattled on its hinges as the alpha realized its mistake and threw itself against the surface in an attempt to get out.

"The desk! The desk!" Stiles shouted waving Scott over who was standing next to an old, decrepit looking desk. Nodding in understanding, Scott threw himself into movement, shoving the thing in front of the door. The three of them rotated the desk, situating it so that it spanned the length of the hallway and braced against a set of lockers on the opposite wall. As soon as it was in place they backed away, leaning breathlessly against the walls and hoping with everything they had that the desk would hold. There was a violent bang as the alpha collided the door again in an attempt to break out. The desk shook violently with the impact, but it stayed in place. Meaning the alpha stayed stuck.

Charlie, Scott, and Stiles all looked at each other for a moment, unwilling to believe that it had actually worked. And then, as realization hit them, giant smirks formed on each of there faces. A disbelieving laugh burbled out of Charlie's throat and she looked up at Stiles who was standing right next to her, and was already smiling at her in complete relief. Charlie bit her lip and shook her head before stepping forwards and grabbing his face in her hands, pulling it down so she could plant a theatrical kiss on his cheek.

"Stilinski, you beautiful idiot," she laughed out, shoving him lightly back into the wall. "That was possibly the stupidest idea ever. Of all time."

"Well it seemed to work out just fine," he mumbled through a shaky laugh of his own, flushing red and scratching at the back of his neck. "Seeing as we're all still very much in the 'not dead' category."

"So what do we do now?" Scott interrupted from the other side of the desk. "Do we just leave him here—what do we do?"

"We get the hell out of here," Charlie replied. "Obviously."

As if to emphasize her point, the alpha slammed into the door again, trying to force it open again. The desk rattled and collided with the set of lockers again, making them all jump.

"Come on, get across," Stiles mumbled, waving him over.

Scott's mouth dropped open slightly as he looked between the desk and that tiny window that opened into the boiler room. "What?"

"Climb over," Charlie piled on insistently. "That desk might not hold forever, but you're good for now, so get you're ass in gear, McCall!" Scott paused for a moment, but then in a flurry of movement he jumped over the desk so that all three of them were on the same side. "Great," Charlie whispered, clapping a hand on Scott's shoulder. "Now let's break out of this hell-hole."

Charlie and Scott made a move to leave, but Stiles didn't budge. Instead, for some inexplicable reason he moved closer to the door, leaning in so that he could peer in through that little window. "What are you doing?" Scott demanded anxiously, slapping Stiles on the shoulder.

"I just—I just want to get a look at it," Stiles explained in the most reasonable sounding tone he could muster.

Charlie gaped at him in complete disbelief. "Get a look at it—get a _look_ at it? That thing's been chasing us down for the past hour! We've gotten plenty of looks at it, all of them a little bit too close for comfort!"

"Look, it's trapped, okay? It's not going to get out." And with that Stiles crept closer to the window, climbing up on the surface of the desk so he could peek through. Charlie swore heavily and collapsed against the wall behind her, running her hands down her face in frustration. This was so not a good idea. And then to make things even more idiotic than they already were, Stiles lifted up the floodlight and shone it through the window. "Yeah, that's right we got you," he mocked bitterly.

Scott and Charlie both hissed frantically for him to be quiet, but Stiles rounded on them angrily. "No," he bit out, "I'm not scared of this thing." As if to contradict him, the alpha rammed itself into the door again, causing the desk to shake and making Stiles half-jump, half-fall over the side. A thick, clawed hand appeared against the glass of the window and slowly drew to the side so that the claws screeched against the metal grating. "I'm not scared of you!" Stiles shouted in the direction of the door.

"Well that's all fine and good, Stiles," Charlie snapped, punching him in the shoulder again. "You're a brave little toaster—good for you—but I, for one, _am_ scared of the thing."

"Yeah, well she doesn't have to be," Stiles called out, still directing all his words at the creature on the other side of the door.

"Stiles!" she growled, hitting him again. "Don't bait the murderous werewolf! I thought that kind of went without saying!"

But Stiles just waved her off, still focusing on the door and watching the movement of the shadows as the creature paced back and forth. "She doesn't have to be afraid of you, 'cause you're in there and we're out here. You're not going any—"

His words were cut off by a loud crash and Charlie's eyes snapped back to the window. Chunks of debris were falling from the ceiling, as if something hand burrowed into it. The breath caught in Charlie's throat as she directed her eyes upwards. The tiles of the ceiling creaked and sank down as heavy steps pressed down on them. Charlie exhaled sharply and turned to Stiles. "You were saying?"

Charlie hurled herself after Stiles and Scott, hurtling down the hallway putting as much space as they could between themselves and the alpha. But Charlie didn't get far. Just as they made it around the corner, her toe caught up on an old, rusted chain curled up on the ground and was sent crashing to the floor. Pain bloomed in her palms and knees, radiating upwards, but she didn't get much time to recover. She had to get up. Not realizing that she had fallen, Stiles and Scott continued to run. It only took about three seconds for her to clamber back to her feet, but three seconds was enough. The loud thumping noise of the alpha moving in the ceiling had caught up with her. And then it stopped. Right above her head.

Gasping for breath, Charlie took several small steps backwards, her eyes not leaving the sunken point in the ceiling. A loud groan emanated from the tiles, and then with an almighty crash, the alpha's giant form ripped through the surface and fell to the floor directly in front of her. An involuntary, piercing scream tore from her throat. Not bothering to think of what to do or where to go, Charlie spun on her heel and ran as fast as she possibly could. In the back of her mind she vaguely registered Stiles's voice calling out her name, but she ignored it and kept running. She didn't even bother looking over her shoulder, or maybe she was just too afraid to. Either way, she didn't need to look over her shoulder to know what was coming for her. She could hear it.

Somehow she managed to find her way back to the stairwell and scrambled back up to the first floor. She kept running down that hallway until she realized that she didn't hear anything anymore. Skidding to a halt, Charlie finally turned around to look behind her. The alpha was standing still at the end of the hallway, staring straight at her with those luminous red eyes. Charlie froze in place. It was the first time she had ever made direct eye contact with the thing. And now that she had, she was pretty sure she was about to die. Then the alpha did something she would never have expected. It turned right and walked away, leaving her totally alone in that corridor.

It was screwing with her. That was the only possible explanation for what had just happened. And if she really thought about it, the alpha could have killed her about six times over that night. But it hadn't. There was no way she could outrun the thing—it had every opportunity to kill her and it chose not to. Maybe it just liked to play with its food before it ate. One thing was for certain, though—whoever the alpha was, they weren't just a murderous psychopath. They were also a dick.

Charlie glanced around, trying to orient herself. She was in the first floor corridor, and just because the alpha had let her go that time, it didn't mean it would let her live through the night. She needed some sort of diversion—she needed some protection. This was the part in the horror film when people started to die. The busty coed would get separated from the group and wander around with the big doe eyes, just waiting for the psychopath to strike out and kill her. Well that wasn't going to happen here. Charlie was not the busty coed, and she sure as hell was not going to die. According to Scott, wolves hunted based on smell, sight, and sound. There was nothing she could do about the sound of her own heartbeat, but maybe she could make things a bit more confusing.

The French room. That would be her first stop. Charlie reached into her back pocket and pulled out her flashlight, switching it on and covering the light with her fingers to limit the range of the beam created. She darted through the corridors, staying as close as she could to the lockers to avoid being detected. When she finally got to the right door, she leaned forwards off the lockers, glancing right and left before dodging through the door. She stumbled around inside, almost tripping over some of the desks to get to the cabinet in the back where all the portable stereos and language tapes were kept. She quickly shoved the tape in place and turned it on, lowering the volume so it sounded like a muffled conversation rather than some woman asking where the bathroom was on a loop. She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it aside, giving the alpha something to smell other than her.

Next stop was the English room—Mr. Hobson's class. She had to cover up her own scent, and she knew there would be something there to do the trick. She repeated the same process that had gotten her to the French room and slipped into the room. Only this time she didn't go for the cabinets. This time she went for his desk.

Mr. Hobson's smoking was maybe the worst kept secret in the history of Beacon Hills High School. He thought that he kept it to himself, sneaking cigarettes between classes, but his yellow-stained fingers and crotchety attitude told a different story. Charlie pried open his desk drawer and pulled out the air freshener the man used to try and cover up the stink of the smoke and sprayed herself with it, covering up every inch of herself. A thick cloud of the stench of flowers engulfed her and filled her mouth, making her choke down a violent cough. That should do the trick.

Charlie's eyes fell on something else inside the desk—a small, silver lighter. Snatching the thing up, Charlie held it up to the weak light issuing forth from that small flashlight. She needed something to defend herself with, and maybe she had just found it. A small smile covered her face as the light glinted off the silver. Then, all of the sudden, there was a loud bang from down the hall, accompanied by another low growl. Shit. She had to move again, and she needed another diversion.

Grabbing the tape from Mr. Hobson's desk, Charlie secured her flashlight to the standing fan that sat in the corner of the room and switched the thing on. The fan slowly moved back and forth, allowing the beam of light to sway slowly from left to right. Charlie scrambled out of the room and continued to run down the hallway. One last stop.

When Charlie got close to Lydia's locker, she fell to her knees and skidded slightly on the floor, coming to a stop directly in front of the padlock. She brought her face in close, trying to see those tiny tick marks with the little light she had left and thanking whatever deities needed thanking for Lydia telling her the locker combination when Charlie brought her books home from school after the incident at the video store. She had gotten through the first two numbers when a shadow flitted by at the end of the hall. Her heart stopped in her chest, but she turned back to the lock, forcing her fingers not to shake as she keyed in the last number. She heard that last little click and yanked the lock open, tossing it over her shoulder and sending it clattering to the floor as she swiped the cans of hairspray from the bottom of Lydia's locker.

Another roar echoed through the hall and Charlie quickly got to her feet and ran. The alpha was close. As soon as she rounded the corner into a new hallway, she dodged into the nearest supply closet and shut the door behind her. Dropping to the floor, Charlie pushed herself back as far as she could until the metal shelves lining the closet were shoving painfully into her back.

For a few moments all she could hear were the shaky breaths coming out of her mouth and her mind strayed back to Stiles and Scott. They would be fine. They had to be fine. There was no way the alpha was going to actually hurt Scott—it needed Scott—and Stiles….well she refused for Stiles to be anything other than okay. She had already seen one person die that night, and that number would not increase to two. He would get himself out. If what had just happened was any indication, he would come up with some ridiculous plan that on paper shouldn't work at all but ended up being pretty successful.

All of the sudden, her jumpy mind stilled completely and she bit down hard on her lip, forcing her breaths to come out slower and quieter. Footsteps. She could hear footsteps. And those loud, snarling breaths that had been ringing in her ears far to long. Fumbling with the lighter, Charlie switched the thing on, holding the tiny flame in front of her face and placing the uncapped hairspray right behind it, her finger poised on the nozzle. Her eyes trained on the small crack of light between the door and the floor. Something walked slowly past her, obstructing the light, and she held her breath, willing the alpha not to hear her on the other side of the door.

It kept walking. She wasn't sure why, but it kept walking. Maybe it saw the flashing light in Mr. Hobson's room or heard the muffled conversation from the French room, but for whatever reason the alpha had passed right by her. After about two minutes of sitting completely still, Charlie sighed heavily and let her head sag back, hitting she shelves. Somehow that impact managed to knock over some supplies sitting above her, sending them tumbling onto the ground with a small crash.

Fear flooded through Charlie. "Shit, shit, shit," she chanted under her breath, trying to still the cans rolling around next to her. And then she heard more footsteps. They were heading right for her. She sat up straight and grabbed the lighter and hairspray one more time, holding them in place and waiting at the ready.

This time the footsteps didn't pass her by. They stopped right in front on the other side of the door. Charlie's heart jumped into her throat as the handle started to turn slightly. The door cracked and then began to swing open. Just as it had opened about half way, Charlie jammed her finger down on the nozzle of the hairspray so that it moved through the flame, sending a jet of fire flying about three feet in front of her and trying not to wince in pain as the flames licked her fingers.

"Agh!" a familiar and distinctly non-werewolf like voice shouted. "What the hell."

Charlie lifted her finger from the nozzle and scrambled to her feet, sticking her head out the door to see who it was that she had almost incinerated. "Jackson?" she demanded in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What the hell am I doing?!" he shouted, gesturing angrily at her. "What are you doing?! You just tried to light me on fire!"

"Jackson, keep your voice down," she whispered urgently. "I need you to tell me what you're doing here."

He just laughed cruelly and shook his head. "You know what, Oswin," he said, pointing an angry finger at her, "I always knew you were a psycho. I guess I just didn't realize how much of a psycho. You, McCall, and Stilinski—you three are just totally—"

"Jackson!" she whispered harshly, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "I need you to tell me why you're here!"

Jackson let out a loud scoff and raised his eyebrows at her skeptically. "What you don't know? Scott was like a half hour for our group date and then we get this weird ass text telling us to meet him here."

Charlie's eyebrows pulled together in a frown. "You got a text from Sco—Wait what do you mean 'we'?"

"Me, Lydia, and Allison," he drawled out.

"You're all here!"

"Yeah," he replied, looking at her like she was an idiot. "Allison's looking for Scott and Lydia's using the bathroom. Again."

Charlie slammed the hand not holding the hairspray into her forehead. Scott hadn't sent any sort of text. Hell, she was pretty sure he didn't even have his phone on him. That meant that everything she had already been through, being chased around the school for the past hour and a half, had only been part of the plan. This was about to get much, much bigger and much, much worse. Taking in her obvious distress, the contemptuous expression dropped from Jackson's face and was replaced by one of concern. "Chuck, what the hell is going on here?"

Charlie turned to respond to him, but instead her eyes were dragged to the end of the hallway. Jackson, following the line of her vision, spun around and stared in the same direction. There was a figure standing half in their line of sight, too tall and muscled to be human. Jackson stared at it curiously and called out after it.

"McCall!"

He didn't get any response. Charlie could see him shift uncomfortably on his feet. She reached up and put a hand on his shoulder. "Jackson," she murmured carefully. "We need to go now."

He shoved her hand away, and continued to stare at the figure. "Scott?" he shouted again, this time with the name coming out more as a question than as an accusation. And then he whispered a name she hadn't expected him to. "Derek?"

The alpha dropped to all fours and crept away, moments later to be replaced by Lydia. "Charlie, what are you doing here?" she demanded curiously, looking her up and down. Then her eyes slid over from Charlie to Jackson, who was still staring at the other end of the hall in shock. Lydia frowned and glanced over her shoulder at the now empty hallway before turning back to face them and raising her eyebrows at Charlie expectantly.

Charlie opened and closed her mouth a few times, searching for a valid response. "I, uh, I got a text from Scott telling me to meet him and Stiles here."

Lydia frowned and gave her a strange look. "Why would Scott text you?" Charlie opened her mouth to come up with another lie, but Lydia barreled on, interrupting her and casually flipping her hair over her shoulder. "You know what, I don't care. I'm so over this sneaking into the school thing. I mean it was cool when we were like ten years old, but I think it's about time we all moved on." Then she focused in closer on Charlie's face and her eyebrows drew together in a troubled expression. "Charlie what happened to your face?"

Frowning slightly, Charlie lifted her hand to her face. When her fingers brushed up against her cheek, it felt rough and scabbed. She had totally forgotten about the glass cutting her face. "It's nothing," she said dismissively. "My nails are kind of ragged and I accidentally scratched myself. Let's just get out of here. We should get out of here as soon as possible. Which way did you get in?"

Lydia gave her another weird look. "Um, through the door leading to the parking lot. You know, the one those two idiots left open for us?"

"Great," Charlie said, exhaling sharply. "Great, let's all go their right now. I forgot my phone, so why don't you call Allison and tell her we're getting out of here."

"Hey, is that my hairspray?" she demanded, pointing at Charlie's hand.

Charlie's mouth dropped open and she glanced between the can and Lydia a few times. "I felt the sudden need for glossy locks?" she posited weakly, shrugging her shoulders,

Lydia let out a loud scoff and planted her hands on her hips, staring Charlie down. "Do you have any idea how expensive that stuff is?"

"I'll pay you back," Charlie replied earnestly. "Now will you just call Allison?"

"I have to have it imported from France!"

"Jesus, Lydia, would you just call her already?" Jackson snapped, glowering at his girlfriend. Lydia looked taken aback by his aggressiveness and glared at him, letting out a small harrumph, but she reached into her purse and pulled out her cell. "Fine," she bit out with high-pitched hostility.

While Lydia made the call, Charlie bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, silently urging her to hurry up. Lydia sighed heavily as she hung up the phone and stuffed it back in her purse. "Well Allison says that she can't find them," she said with that saccharine smile she only ever wore when she was getting seriously pissed off. "We're just going leave—let those boys play with themselves. She'll meet us out front."

"Okay!" Charlie said happily, spinning on her heel and marching down the hall. Jackson and Lydia had to run a bit to keep up with her, and they were both clearly a bit put off by her behavior—glancing around corners and the like. One thing was for sure, there was no way they could possibly be subtle with Lydia's heels clacking against the hall. All she knew was that she needed to get them to the car as quickly as she possibly could. She had no intention of leaving with them—she refused to leave Stiles and Scott behind—but they had no idea what they were dealing with. Charlie had chosen to be a part of this mess, but she couldn't drag Lydia, Allison and Jackson along with her. As they got closer to the exit, she turned back to Lydia, who was lagging a bit and trying to move as quickly as she could in those heels. "Call Allison again," she ordered.

This time Lydia didn't question her. She seemed to instinctively grasp Charlie's urgency, even if she didn't understand it quite yet. She punched in Allison's number and held it to her ear. Charlie heard a high-pitched ringing from just on the other side of he set of double doors leading into the school lobby. "Where are you?" Allison's disembodied, anxiety-ridden voice said.

Charlie sprinted down the hall and shoved her way through the doors to find Allison, Stiles, and Scott on the other side. When she saw them, she let out a long, relieved sigh, allowing some of the tension to leave her body. A similar look of relief washed across Stiles's face and he doubled over at the waist, sucking in deep breaths. "Son of a—Charlie, thank God. Are you okay?"

"Totally fine," she said, nodding in as reassuring a way possible. "Absolutely, 100% fine."

He swallowed heavily and nodded. "Good. That's good."

"Charlie, what are you doing here?" Allison demanded.

"Same thing as you," she replied vaguely.

"Why do you have hair spray?" Scott asked in a dumbfounded tone.

Not bothering to explain, Charlie pulled the lighter out of her pants pocket and used the hairspray to create another jet of fire like the one that had nearly burned off Jackson's eyebrows. Allison jumped slightly, letting out a small squeak while Scott and Stiles stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Remind me never to get on your bad side," Stiles mumbled, looking her up and down.

Just then the double doors burst open again, revealing Jackson and Lydia. "Finally!" Lydia said, rolling her eyes and scurrying towards the little circle that had formed between the rest of them. She reached into her purse and grappled with her keys. "Can we go now? I'm not sure what's going on, but Charlie is acting weirder than usual, and I just want to go home."

"That sounds like a fantastic plan," Charlie said before rounding on Jackson. "Can we get a ride? You can fit six people in the douche-mobile, right? I mean it won't be comfortable, but I think we can manage it."

Jackson gave her a withering glare. "What's wrong with your car?"

"Flat tire," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "We'll fix it tomorrow. During the daylight hours."

"Look, let's just get out of here," Allison interjected, a worried look on her face. "I don't care whose car we take, let's just go."

There was a round of nods, and in that moment Charlie felt like things might just work out for them. But then there was a loud thump above their heads and all hopes were dashed. Charlie slowly looked up and saw a familiar buckling of the ceiling, bits of dust and debris raining from the ceiling as the alpha moved around.

Charlie glanced around at all of the faces surrounding her. They were all confused and scared. Eventually her eyes connected with Stiles's, and they both gave each other a small nod. They knew what came next.

"Run!"

**Part 2 of Night School! Hell, this episode might even end up being a 4-parter the way this seems to be going. **

**Okay, so the bit with Charlie and Stiles in the same locker—I went back and forth on whether or not there was actually enough space for that to be physically possible. They used 2 different lockers for the show—one for an exterior shot and one for the interior shot. The exterior shots made the locker look kind of small, but from the interior shot it looked like two people could fit in if they were totally squished together, and Charlie (played by Olesya Rulin or Kaya Scodelario depending on my mood) is kind of tiny, so I said what the hell and added that part in. **

**Anyways, please review! My cat is safe from the hungry muse for now, but you never know…..More reviews will deter her from any horrific ALF-like behavior.**


	20. Ask Me No Questions

. **Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to easythrowaway, Micaela M, Guest, LifeIsARayOfSunshine, Skittleslover3, Moonyong98, Guest, Guest, Guest,TameTheGhosts, Guest, ScornedxRose, and Jessiscrazy9108 for revewing. And the perennially awesome BrittWitt16.**

**Okay, so at first I was going to finish the episode in one chapter, but this one started getting kind of long. The next one will have a LOT of Stiles and Charlie. Like a lot. This one was mostly action, the next one will have more development.**

Chapter 19 – Ask Me No Questions

Four days. It had been four days since Charlie had gotten her first positive confirmation that werewolves existed in Beacon Hills. It had been less than twelve hours since she had been officially inducted into the Scooby Gang. In those twelve hours she had pelted Scott's nuts with lacrosse balls, had a pop quiz in her sixth period French class, was stalked by a psychopath, watched two men—one of whom she knew—being eviscerated, and had almost been killed herself. Needless to say, it had been a very, very long day. And now, when she would usually be drinking hot chocolate and watching 'The Daily Show', she was holing up in the lunch room with her four closest friends in Beacon Hills. And Jackson.

It was the second time that night the alpha had almost landed on her head, and that really wasn't something you got used to. The six of them sprinted down the hallway, tripping over each other and ramming into each other as they went. Charlie's hand found its way around Lydia's, squeezing it tightly as they ran, and she and Jackson ended up half-dragging the girl after them. The three of them were the last to break the line of the lunch room, the force of their speed carrying them about fifteen feet into the lunch room before managing to come to a stop. Charlie released Lydia's hand and bent over at the waist, taking in deep, gulping breaths to recover from the sprint. She really needed to fit more cardio into her exercise regimen. As she gasped, forcing as much oxygen as possible down her throat, she heard a series of bangs and clicks indicative of someone closing the door and barricading them in. She finally caught her breath and exhaled in relief, but as soon and she stood up straight, the air was sucked out of her lungs yet again. Because she found herself staring at a wall of windows.

"Shit."

Why did their school have to have so many great views and so much natural light? High schools were supposed to look like prisons. They were supposed to be cramped, dark, and steeped in the type of fluorescent lighting that made you want to throw yourself out of the window, if there was one big enough to fit through. Usually she was grateful for Beacon Hills's ridiculously good floor planning, but she would sacrifice all of the lovely views in the world for a giant wall of concrete.

"Help me get this in front of the door!" Scott shouted anxiously, running to one of the massive milk refrigeration unit that sat at the end of the lunch line.

"Scott, wait," Stiles said, making Charlie turn in his direction. He was looking at the windows as well, and had apparently come to the same conclusion she had. "Not here," he continued urgently. "We can't stay here."

Scott didn't hear him, though. He had switched into panic mode and was doing anything he could to put more obstacles between him and the alpha.

"What was that?!" Allison demanded, pointing at the door and her voice choking with fear. "Scott what was that?!"

"What just came through the ceiling?!" Lydia whimpered, sounding like she was on verge of tears.

"Right now it doesn't matter what it is," Charlie said in the most reasoning tone she could muster. "All that matters is that we keep it the hell away from us. Here we're totally exposed. We need to get out of—"

"Will you just help me?!" Scott shouted, cutting her off as he and Jackson pushed the refrigeration unit in front of the door. He waved his hand to the corner. "Get some chairs! Stack the chairs!"

In a flurry of movement Allison and Lydia joined Jackson and Scott, grabbing and stacking as many chairs as possible in front of the door. It was like they were wind up toys—like some slightly sadistic kid had twisted that little knob as much as they could and let go, making them scurry about in whatever way had been predetermined by the toy company. But it was the efficiency of panic, that special type of efficiency that ultimately ended up being counterproductive.

"Hey, we need to stop and think for a second," Charlie called out, gesturing at the wall as they moved frantically. None of them seemed to register her voice, or that she was there at all.

"Guys?" Stiles called out, voicing the thoughts that were occupying her mind as well. "If you could just wait a second? You guys, listen to me, wai—Can we wait a second?!" They continued to ignore him, stacking the chairs on top of the refrigeration unit and sliding them all around the door. "Guys!" he shouted again, his frustration mounting. "Stiles talking? Can we just hand on one second, please?!"

Charlie raised her hand to her mouth, pressing her thumb and index finger to her lips and let out a wolf-whistle. The loud, shrill noise pierced the air and seemed to break the shared trance. They all stood up straight and turned to face her with wide, uncomprehending eyes, vaguely resembling a family of meercats. Stiles shot her a glance and nodded in gratitude, before staring down the others.

"Okay, nice work," he drawled out, his voice dripping in sarcasm. "Really beautiful job, everyone! Now, what should we do about the twenty foot wall of windows?!"

At that point both he and Charlie gestured widely at the wall and the all four of them seemed to snap out of their automated responses. Lydia shrank even closer to Jackson's side, her eyes falling shut in fear, and Allison grabbed an even tighter hold on Scott's hand.

"Can some body please tell me what's going on, because I am freaking out here and I'd really like to know why." Allison said, her voice shaking with fear. She turned to face Scott, trying to look into his face, but his eyes were continuously evading hers. That evasiveness made Charlie cringe internally. It was a sure-fire indicator of guilt. Allison grasped his hands tightly and looked at him pleadingly. "Scott?"

Scott broke away, pulling his hands out of hers and dodging aside. Charlie exhaled sharply and pulled closer to Stiles. They glanced at each other nervously, before turning back to the others and finding themselves being stared down by Lydia and Jackson.

"You got something to add to the conversation, Oswin?" Jackson snarled, nodding in her direction. "Like, oh, I don't know, why you were hiding in a closet trying to light me on fire with an impromptu flame-thrower?"

"I was alone in the dark and I felt like there was something chasing me," she spat back. "I was freaking out! Why do you think I was trying to get us out of here so quickly?! I don't know what's going on here—I just want it to be over!"

"Well that worked out just great," he sneered, clapping his hands together slowly.

Charlie held up the hair spray and glowered at him threateningly. "You want to keep your eyebrows, Whittemore?"

"Will you guys stop?!" Allison cried out desperately before turning back to Scott for answers. He glanced at her a few times before a pained expression contorted his face. He let out a soft groan and doubled over, leaning on one of the lunch tables for support. His eyes were darting around trying to come up with some explanation—any explanation—but he fell short. Charlie's stomach clenched and she looked over at Stiles, silently asking him what they should do next. A serious expression covered his face and he took a step forward.

"Somebody killed the janitor," he said seriously. It wasn't exactly an explanation, but it would buy them some time.

"What?" Lydia demanded pitifully.

"Yeah, the janitor's dead," Stiles reiterated.

Allison let out a scared, humorless laugh and glanced back and forth between Stiles and Scott. "What is he talking about? Is this—is this a joke?"

"I think the jokes kind of went out the window when that thing crashed through the ceiling," Charlie muttered darkly. "Guys, we can get our explanations later. Right now all we need to do is survive."

"Wha—who killed him?!" Jackson demanded.

The expression that crossed Lydia's face made Charlie feel like guilt had punched her in the face. She knew that after the video store, the girl had to have been questioning everything—what she heard, what she saw, even her own sanity. But she had taken that day and put it in a neat little box in the corner of her mind, never to be looked at again. That had made it okay for Charlie to lie about everything to her, because she had had the legitimate excuse that Lydia would be better off not knowing or suspecting in the first place. But now, not only was that box open—its contents were falling through the ceiling and hunting her down.

"N—n—n—n—no," Lydia stuttered out, staring blindly into her distance, eyes filled with tears, and shaking her head. "This—this was supposed to be over. The mountain lion killed—"

"No—don't you get it!" Jackson interjected harshly, glaring at Scott with suspicion. "It wasn't a mountain lion!"

"Who was it?!" Allison shouted, getting close to tears herself. "What does he want?"

"How are we supposed to know that?!" Charlie interjected desperately. "The guy's a psychopath—their motives don't really follow the course of logic!"

But Allison ignored her and began pulling her hand through her hair with a sort of pathological anxiety. "What's happening?" she whispered to herself. Her eyes fixated on Scott who was still leaning on the table, looking like he was about to have a full-on panic attack. "Scott!"

"I—I—I don't know!" he stammered, standing up from the desk and turning to face them. But he still couldn't force himself to maintain eye contact with anybody. "I—I just kno—if we go out there he's gonna kill us."

"Us?" Lydia demanded incredulously. "He's gonna kill _us_!"

"Who?" Allison broke in again, turning around to stare at Stiles pointedly. "Who is it?"

The tension filling the room made Charlie feel like she was suffocating. Stiles looked at her for a second and then his eyes fixed on Scott's back, like he was willing his friend to come up with some sort of explanation that would make this all go away. Charlie bit down hard on her lip. That wasn't fair. Scott shouldn't have to carry that burden. The silence stretched out for what felt like hours before she straightened and began to speak. "How are they supposed to know who it is?" she demanded, staring down the rest of the group and gesticulating wildly. "It's not like he dropped a calling card with their manservants or something! People don't go around carrying business cards that say 'Hello My Name Is Dot-Dot-Dot and I'm a Serial Killer'! I mean I don't get what you guys expec—?!"

"It's Derek," Scott broke in suddenly. Charlie's voice trailed off immediately, cutting off with a squeak that kind of sounded like a dying chipmunk. Hearing the noise, Scott shot her a severely guilty look, but kept going anyway. He straightened to his full height and blew out a long breath. "It's Derek Hale."

It was a legitimate assertion. Hell, if she hadn't known better it was the most likely explanation. Derek was a good scapegoat—he was a loner, isolated, and literally lived in a broken down cabin in the middle of the woods like Ted Kaczynski. He always glared at people with his 'serial killer eyes,' he had already been investigated by the police for the death of his sister, and apparently Jackson already had his suspicions about the guy. Yeah, on paper he was the perfect candidate for all of it. But there was just one problem. It wasn't him. And not only was it not him, but he had been brutally killed by the person they were looking for. Charlie could lie, and she had lied—a lot—but this was a step too far. She let out an angry laugh and shook her head. "Oh, you have got to be fucking ki—"

Stiles elbowed her hard in the ribs and gave her a warning look. Charlie crossed her arms across her chest and ground her teeth, but somehow managed to bite her tongue—both literally and figuratively.

"Wait?" Jackson said, scrunching up his face in confusion. "Derek killed the janitor?"

Allison let out a confused, disbelieving gasp and held her shaking hand up, like she was willing the conversation to slow down. "Are y—are you sure?"

"I saw him!" Scott insisted, making Charlie's hands ball up into tiny fists, her fingernails digging into the flesh of her palms.

Lydia's mouth dropped open and she shook her head. "The mountain lion…" she interjected in a weak voice, still adhering to the logical story she had constructed in her head.

"No!" Scott shouted, his voice becoming steadier and more determined. "Derek killed them!"

"All of them?" Allison asked, doubt creeping into her voice.

"Yes!" Scott insisted. "Starting with his own sister."

"And the bus driver?"

"And the guy at the video store—it's been Derek the whole time!" Scott began to breathe heavily, his back still turned to them all as he tried to get his story straight. "He's in here with us…And if we don't get out now, he's going to kill us too!"

A hushed silence fell over the group as Scott ended his speech. Charlie kept her jaw clenched shut, not because she was in shock or had nothing to say, but because she was afraid that if she opened it, she might start screaming at Scott. Loudly, and with a number of excessively colorful and probably highly offensive curse words. After you die, the living are the ones who write your story—and the dead can't defend themselves. And even though she didn't know him particularly well and hadn't even liked him all that much, Scott had just taken a massive dump on the legacy of Derek Hale. If she really thought about it, Scott didn't have all that many options and he was doing the best he could under the circumstances, but she was an imperfect person. And she was pissed.

Noticing her tension, Stiles shifted so that he was standing next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She ground her teeth and shot him a warning look, but he didn't waver, instead squeezing her shoulder with what she supposed was intended to be some form of reassurance. Charlie appreciated the gesture, but there really wasn't much reassurance to be had under this specific set of circumstances. Still, she reached up and covered his hand with hers, removing it from her shoulder but squeezing it slightly in return before letting go.

"Call the cops," Jackson interjected suddenly.

Charlie froze the second the words came out of his mouth. It was the logical conclusion—calling the cops. It was what people typically did under these circumstances wasn't it? But at the mention of the idea, she felt herself go cold and looked over at Stiles. The expression on his face was something she couldn't quite recognize, and that scared her. It froze into a hard mask. And she decided she didn't like it.

"No," he replied simply.

Jackson let out a disbelieving laugh and looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "Wh—what do you mean 'no'?!"

"I mean no," Stiles bit out angrily, facing off with Jackson and taking a small, threatening step towards him. "You wanna hear it in Spanish? _¡No!_ Look, Derek killed three people, okay? We don't know what he's armed with."

"Your dad is armed with an entire sheriff's department!" Jackson growled, gesturing at him angrily while Lydia and Allison leveled their own accusing glares. "Call him!"

"I'm calling," Lydia said, her voice wavering as she dug through her bag for her phone.

Stiles shook his head and advanced towards her. "No, Lydia, would you just hold on just a—" He was cut off as Jackson grabbed hold of him and shoved him away. Scott moved over to Stiles and put a placating hand on his shoulder, trying to ward off any more hostility between the two, but after a moment all of their attention was drawn to Lydia who was standing there with her phone clutched to one ear and her finger plugging the other.

"Yes, we're at Beacon Hills High School," she whimpered. "We're trapped and we need you to…..but….." After a few seconds she pulled her phone away and stared at it like it had just betrayed her.

Charlie approached the other girl and put an entreating hand on her arm. "Lydia?" she asked tentatively. "Lydia, what is it?"

"She hung up on me," Lydia said, sounding like she was in shock.

"The police hung up on you?" Allison demanded skeptically.

"She said they got a tip warning them that there are going to be prank calls about a break in at the high school," Lydia murmured, turning to face them with wide, terrified eyes. "She said if I called again that they're going to trace it and have me arrested."

Charlie groaned loudly and rubbed at her forehead in frustration. "Son of a bitch. The bastard thought of everything."

"Okay, just call again!" Allison insisted.

"No they won't trace a cell," Stiles murmured darkly. "And they'll send a car to your house before they send anyone here."

"What th—what the—what is this?" Allison stammered out, covering her face and driving her hands into her hair. "Why does Derek want to kill us? Why is he killing anyone?"

Another silence fell over the group and eventually all of their eyes found their way to Scott. It took him a moment to realize they were all staring at him, and his eyes darted between each of theirs frantically. "Why is everyone looking at me?" he demanded incredulously.

"Is he the one that sent her the text?" Lydia demanded, staring at him expectantly.

"No!" Scott shouted impulsively, before reconsidering his words. "I—I mean I don't know."

"Is he the one that called the police?" Allison piled on.

"I don't know!" Scott shouted at her, prompting her to give him an angry look and turn around, leaving him staring at her back.

"Can I just throw the word 'psychopath' back in the ring for a second," Charlie said, raising a hand so that they all turned to her. "Psychopaths don't need a reason. That's why they're psychopaths. I mean look at all the deaths—sister, bus river, video store clerk. There's not really a pattern there."

"Yeah, but why are we the ones that end up reenacting a B-grade horror flick," Jackson shouted, gesturing between the lot of the. "Jesus, Oswin, why do you keep defending those two idiots? Are you high or are you just stupid?"

"Alright, let's just back off the throttle here, yeah?" Stiles said in a placating tone, but still glowering at Jackson. He clapped his hands on Scott's back, steering him away from the group so they could talk between themselves. Charlie glanced after them as they moved, but she stayed put. As far as Lydia, Allison, and Jackson were concerned, she was just as in the dark as they were with all of this. And that meant that she had to distance herself from Stiles and Scott. Exhaling sharply, she turned back to the others to find herself face to face with a seriously pissed off looking Jackson.

"What the hell, Chuck?" he hissed at her, smacking his hand into her shoulder. "Why are you so goddamn dismissive of all this shit?"

"Because believe it or not, Jackson, right now I really don't give a crap about Derek Hale's motivations," she replied curtly.

Allison gaped at her, opening and closing her mouth like a dying fish. "Wha—how can you say that?"

"You're kidding, right?" Charlie said, glancing between all of them. The three of them just stared back with blank, yet horrified expressions. "Okay, then, not kidding," she murmured, scratching at her forehead absently. "We have all the time in the world to speculate on who and why and what and where and h—"

"Charlie!" Lydia screeched, interrupting her rambling. "Get to the point, please!"

"Yeah, okay, whatever," Charlie said, waving her hand dismissively. "The point is that while we're here arguing, Derek or whoever the hell is doing this has more time to stalk and plan. We've been standing in a prone position bickering for the past five minutes instead of trying to get the hell out of here! That's something I have a problem with! Personally—" she pointed to herself "—I would like for us the shut the hell up unless we're being constructive. We can do the post-game play-by-play after we've escaped with our lives."

Allison and Lydia both blinked with realization, but Jackson stayed hostile, as was his way. Allison bit her lip and nodded in agreement. "Okay," she whispered quietly. "Okay, you're right, Charlie. We need to get out of here as soon as possible. So how do we do that?"

The four of them stood there in silence, gnawing on their fingernails and racking their brains, but then Jackson rolled his eyes heavily spun on his heels so that he was facing Stiles and Scott who were still whispering between each other.

"O—okay, assheads!" he shouted in frustration. "New plan! Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone with a gun and decent aim! Are we good with that?!"

Charlie bit down on her lip and glanced over at Stiles. His eyes widened before that same, hard mask slipped back on. A knot began to form in the pit of her stomach. She didn't like it, and she didn't want Stiles to have to drag his dad into this mess, but they really didn't have a whole lot of options here. Stiles glanced around at everybody, looking for some semblance of support, and when his eyes met hers her face screwed up into an apologetic expression and she looked away, instead staring intently at the floor.

"He's right," Scott agreed, looking poignantly at Stiles. "Tell him the truth if you have to! Just—just call him!"

Stiles's jaw twitched and he leaned in toward Scott. "I'm not watching my dad get eaten alive!" He glanced back over his shoulder at the rest of them and shook his head dismissively before walking off.

"Alright, give me the phone!" Jackson bit out, advancing on Stiles and grabbing his shoulder. As soon as Jackson's hand made contact, Stiles wheeled around, swinging his arm so that his fist collided with Jackson's jaw. The impact sent Jackson stumbling as he grabbed at his face, tripping and falling to the ground.

"Jackson!" Allison cried out worriedly, moving to his side. "Are you okay?" She steadied Jackson, checking to see if he was alright before turning around and glaring at Stiles over her shoulder. But Stiles didn't show a hint of regret. Not that Charlie blamed him. She wouldn't have felt any either. And from what she could see, Jackson was taking a dive—pretending to be way more hurt than he actually was.

Charlie wrapped her arms tightly around her waist and walked over to Stiles, studying his profile while he glared at Jackson and ignored her. "Stiles," she murmured quietly. His eyes flicked to her for about half a second, but then he looked away again, continuing to stare down Jackson. "Stiles," Charlie repeated, this time a little more insistently. "Stiles, it's time. I'm really sorry, but—I know it's bullshit and if there was any other way…..but there's not, okay. We really don't have any other options."

Stiles ground his teeth together and bounced up and down on his feet for a moment before finally looking her full in the face. Charlie bit her lip and nodded reluctantly at him, making him let out a humorless snort. But still, as he looked at her, one of his hands reached inside his pocket and he pulled out the phone. He silently punched the number into the phone and held it up to his ear, turning away from her as it rang. A sudden wave of guilt crashed into Charlie, nearly knocking her over. She had literally just asked him to put his own dad in the same room as the alpha, and he probably hated her a little bit for it.

"Dad, hey, it's me," he drawled out into the phone. "And it's your voicemail. Look, I need you to call me back now. Like right now." Stiles was suddenly cut off by a loud banging noise at the set of double doors leading into the room. Charlie jumped and wheeled around to see the doors and the stacks of chairs vibrating from the impact. The alpha had let them stew long enough. Now it wanted in. Lydia, who had been standing right next to the door, jumped and let out a small screech before running straight to Jackson and grabbing his arm.

"We're at the school," Stiles continued into the phone, eyeing the door. "Dad? We're at the school." He hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket, his eyes never leaving the door.

The banging increased as the alpha began throwing itself against the doors again and again. The sloppy barricade was shaking. It was only a matter of time—and not a lot of it—before the alpha got in. Charlie's breath caught in her throat and she took several large, careful steps backwards, her eyes never leaving the door.

"Okay, people," she whispered in a carefully regulated, almost monotone voice. "I hate to be the 'we've got company' guy, but we've got company. What exactly are we going to do about it?"

"Oh, God," Lydia breathed out through sobs of panic. "Oh my God!"

"The kitchen!" Stiles's voice broke in from somewhere to her right. "The door out of the kitchen leads to the stairwell."

"Which only goes up!" Scott interjected anxiously.

"Up is better than here," Stiles pointed out.

Charlie swallowed heavily and nodded, her eyes still focused on the rattling door. "Agreed."

Charlie felt a hand circle around her arm and pull her back a little bit more quickly. The alpha hurled himself against the door once more and the lot of them turned away from the door and started running as fast as they could. No sooner had the door to the kitchen closed behind them, Charlie heard the doors to the lunch room splinter and the stacks of chairs crashing to the ground.

It was seconds before the six of them found themselves on the second floor. They careened down the hallway, attempting to find another place to hide. They dodged back and forth across the hall, trying out every single doorknob they could get their hands on. Most of them were locked, but when Lydia found herself in front of the chemistry room, the door swung open. They dodged inside, moving away from the door, and Scott grabbed a nearby chair and wedged it under the doorknob to hold it closed. As soon as it was firmly in place, he backed away from the door as well.

Charlie's breath was coming out in quick pants as she stared at the doorknob. That chair wasn't enough to hold the alpha back. Not by a long shot. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for something else to add. Ultimately they fell on the standing lamp behind Harris's desk and the outlet right next to the door. Charlie pushed herself off of the desk she was leaning against and scrambled towards Harris's desk, ignoring the hisses of the others. She pulled open all the desk drawers until she found a pair of scissors and cut the wire leading to lamp. She yanked the plug out from the outlet and used the blade of the scissors to peel back the protective insulation, leaving behind a few inches of naked wire. Scurrying back to the front of the classroom, she dropped to her knees in front of the door and wrapped the naked wire around the metal of the door handle before plugging the wire into the outlet.

Just as she plugged the wire in, a low rumbling echoed through the hallway, accompanied by the sounds of heavy footsteps and snarling breaths. She froze for a moment before pushing herself backwards, scooting against the floor until her back rammed into a set of legs. She glanced up to see Stiles standing over her. He held out a hand which she quickly grasped, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Their hands stayed linked as the alpha grew closer, each tightening around the other with every single approaching step.

All six of them stayed completely quiet and completely still, waiting for the alpha to pass them by and praying that it didn't detect their presence. An amorphous shadow appeared on the other side of the frosted glass, but continued moving forward in the original trajectory. They waited a few more moments for it to pass and then released the collective breath they had been holding. Charlie slumped against the table behind her and released Stiles's hand and covered her face with her hands before letting out a long sigh.

"Seriously, Chuck, what the hell was that?!" Jackson whispered harshly, gesturing at the door. "Are you trying to get us caught?"

"She electrified the door handle, dumbass," Stiles snapped, jumping to her defense. "Anything that touches it will get fried. I'd say that's a pretty good move."

"In case you didn't notice, the thing doesn't use doorknobs!" Jackson shot back. "It just breaks down the freaking door!"

"Jackson!" Scott broke in. "How many people can fit in your Porsche?"

"Six," he answered hesitantly, looking between all of them. "If somebody squeezed in someone's lap."

"Six?" Allison hissed. "I barely fit in the back!"

"You can strap me to the roof," Charlie growled. "We'll get to that when we get to it. For now let's just get the hell out of the school."

"There's no way of getting out without drawing attention," Stiles muttered, throwing his hands in the air.

Then Scott perked up and looked around the room, his eyes falling on a door in the corner of the room. "What about this?" he said, moving towards the door, Charlie and Stiles following right after him. The door was marked with a sign with a crude drawing of stairs and a tiny cartoon man running up them and read 'Rooftop Access'. "This leads to the roof," he said, pointing at the sign. "We can go down the fire escape and to the parking lot in like seconds!"

"That's a deadbolt," Stiles said, pointing at the heavy lock.

Instinctively, Charlie reached to her back pocket to pull out the set of lock picks only to find that it was empty. "Shit," she muttered under her breath, groping her own ass in the hopes that the lock pick would spontaneously appear. She squeezed her eyes shut and cringed before looking up at Stiles and Scott. "My lock picks are gone," she murmured, making Stiles groan loudly and rub at the back of his head. "They must have fallen out when I took out my flashlight after we got separated. I was so freaked out I must not have noticed." She quickly turned around to the other girls. "Allison, Lydia," she hissed, "do either of you have a bobby pin?"

"Wh—what?" Lydia stammered out, giving her a strange look.

"Bobby pins, yes or no," she bit out curtly, snapping her fingers at them. The girls exchanged a strange glance, but shook their heads in the negative. Charlie groaned loudly and slammed her fist into her forehead. They couldn't catch a single freaking break. The universe was conspiring against them—that had to be what was happening here.

"The janitor has a key," Scott said suddenly, making Charlie look at him.

"You mean his body has it," Stiles elaborated, looking at him skeptically.

Charlie bit her lip and shook her head. "There's no way to know where the body is, or even if it's still intact. The alpha ripped Laura Hale in half, remember? There might not even be a body for you to find!"

"I can get it!" Scott whispered eagerly. "I can find it by scent—by blood."

"Well, gee, that sounds like an incredibly terrible idea," Stiles drawled out sarcastically. "What else you got?"

"This is not a good plan," Charlie said, shaking her head frantically. "This is a very, very bad plan. The alpha's been one step ahead of us the entire time. Whoever it is we're dealing with, they're smart and they're ruthless."

"He won't hurt me!" Scott said insistently.

"Right," Charlie shot back, punching him in the shoulder. "He's not trying to kill you, he's trying to recruit you! This entire thing—" she waved her hands around wildly "—this entire thing is one huge hazing ritual! And your friends, your girlfriend—we're the punch line. You go out there, you give him access to the one thing he wants—you!"

Stiles nodded along with her words and as soon as she finished he jerked his thumb in her direction. "What she said."

Scott glanced between the two of them and then his face set, determination etched into each of the lines.

"I'm getting the key," he murmured just loud enough for everybody to hear.

He shoved his way past the two of them, making his way towards the door and leaving Charlie shaking her head after him. This was so not a good idea.

As he was making his way towards the door, Allison stepped into his path and stared him down, her arms wrapped around her waist in a defensive posture. "Are you serious?" she whispered confrontationally.

"Well it's the best plan!" he protested.

Charlie let out a bitter snort and shook her head as she approached him. "That's debatable."

Scott ignored her and barreled on. "Someone has to get the key if we want to get out of here!" he insisted.

"You can't go out there unarmed!" Allison hissed. Scott looked around the room for something that might help. He snatched up Mr. Harris's pointer which was leaning against the chalkboard. Charlie couldn't help but roll her eyes when she saw him waving it about. It consisted of a feeble rod of wood with a little white decorative hand on the end that looked like it was pointing at something.

"Oh, that's great, Scott," Charlie bit out sarcastically. "That'll really help you. Because you know huge, hulking serial killers are all afraid of small bits of wood! I mean what are you going to do, poke him into submission?! He's not a Tickle-Me Elmo or the Pillsbury Dough Boy! That is not a valid self-defense strategy!"

"Well it's better than nothing!" he replied heatedly.

"There's got to be something else," Stiles muttered dejectedly.

Then Lydia, who had seemingly been functioning on autopilot the whole time, visibly perked up. She finally looked up from the floor, glancing between them all with wide, almost eager eyes. "There is!" She jerked her head in the direction of the cabinet filled with all the chemistry supplies and Charlie smiled widely. Now that—that could work.

"What are we gonna do, throw acid on him?" Stiles demanded confusedly.

"No," Lydia quipped, that familiar superior little smile of hers finding its way back to her face. "A fire bomb! In there is everything you need to make a self-igniting Molotov cocktail!"

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows into a slightly terrified expression. "Self-igniting…."

"Molotov cocktail," Lydia said slowly, enunciating every syllable with hostile abruptness. Everybody looked at with dumbfounded expressions, but she just shrugged. "What?" she snapped defensively. "I read it somewhere."

"We don't have a key for that either," Stiles said, gesturing at the cabinet.

Charlie rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms even tighter around her waist. "I think this is one of those 'break glass in case of emergency' moments, don't you?"

Without uttering a single word, Jackson lifted his arm and jerked his elbow backwards, shattering the glass and freeing the contents within. And then Lydia went to work. It was too hard to follow what she was doing in the dark, but if Charlie was being honest she probably wouldn't have understood any of it in broad daylight with the experimental procedure laid out in front of her.

Charlie hopped up on a nearby table and pulled her feet up as well, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Watching Lydia work was a bit mesmerizing. It was almost like she had gone into a trance or something, her body moved with such precision and decisiveness. She grabbed an Erlenmeyer and began filling it with a number of liquids Charlie couldn't identify before measuring out a certain amount of clumpy powder. Jackson was at her side the whole time, helping in whatever way he could. Charlie frowned at the scene. Now it occurred to her that this was the first time in over a weak when Lydia and Jackson weren't constantly bickering.

All of the sudden there was a heavy sigh as someone slid next to her on the table. She glanced to her right to see Stiles next to her, staring at the progress with a sort of terrified fascination. "Do you have any idea what's going on here?" he whispered, waving in the general direction the table.

"Not in the least," Charlie replied, tapping her foot nervously against the surface of the table. "I'm generally a fan of the old school Molotov cocktail."

He frowned at her. "Old school Molotov cocktail?"

"Yup," she murmured, nodding slightly. "Early Russian guerrilla warfare. It's just a bottle of vodka and a rag. Shove the rag in the bottle, light rag on fire, and throw. Glass shatters, alcohol lights on fire. Boom. Well, not boom but you get the point. And there's the added bonus of not having to use face-melting chemicals."

Stiles exhaled sharply and shook his head. "You are slightly terrifying."

The two of them fell silent again as Lydia did her work. "Jackson, hand me the sulphuric acid," Lydia whispered urgently, swirling the contents of the flask. Lydia plopped a plastic funnel into the flask and grabbed the bottle Jackson handed her, pouring some of the contents into the flask. She swirled the contents a few more times and shoved a massive cork into the opening. Taking that as the sign that she was done, Charlie hopped off the table followed by Stiles and approached the rest of the group. Lydia held out the flask, which Scott accepted, but as soon a his hands closed around the glass, Allison stepped forwards.

"No," she said, her voice wavering as she verged on tears. "No, this is insane. You can't do this—you can not go out there."

"We can't just wait here waiting for Stiles's dad to check his messages," Scott argued.

"You could die!" she continued, a desperate hostility working its way into her voice. "Don't you get that? He's killed three people!"

"And we're next," he replied gently. "Somebody has to do something."

He began to move towards the door, but Allison rushed after him, blocking his exit. "Scott, just stop!" she begged. The tears that had been collecting in her eyes over the past few minutes spilled over as she stared at him. "Do you remember—do you remember when you told me that you knew whether or not I was lying—that I had a tell?" He nodded slightly, and Allison heaved out a heavy sigh. Charlie covered her eyes with her hands and wished that she could disappear. She was intruding on an incredibly intimate moment.

"So do you," Allison whispered with a joyless smile. "You're a horrible liar. And you've been lying all night. Just—just please…please don't go. Please don't leave us. Please."

Charlie uncovered her eyes to see Scott's reaction. He looked at Allison for a few long moments before turning his head aside. He glanced over at Stiles as he continued to the door. "Lock it behind me."

But Scott only got a few feet away before Allison grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him into a deep kiss. Charlie averted her eyes again. That kiss—the way Allison was holding him in place as he tried to pull away—Charlie knew that kiss was one of two things. She was trying to get him to stay or she was saying goodbye. Or maybe it was both.

Soon enough, Scott did pull away. He stared into Allison's eyes for a moment, his own filled with regret and longing, before he went to the door. He unplugged the wire Charlie had wrapped around the handle and removed the chair before slipping through. He didn't turn back.

After a few moments, Charlie went over to the door. She braced the chair under the door handle just as Scott had and plugged the wire back in. When she turned back to face the room, she studied each of her fellow prisoners. Stiles was leaning against the chalkboard, gnawing on his fingernails nervously, Lydia was staring into space, and Jackson—for some reason he looked really, really happy about the way things were unfolding. Charlie eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but her eyes were quickly dragged away by the brunette in the center of the room.

Charlie had never seen Allison look so lonely. Not even on the first day of school, when she didn't know anybody and was drowning in a sea of strangers. No, she looked like she had been abandoned—like a kid lost in the shopping mall who was absolutely convinced that their parents weren't coming back. Charlie had never been good with providing comfort. Generally she was more likely to punch someone in the shoulder and tell them to suck it up than she was to give them a hug. She knew what they needed….she just wasn't sure how to give it.

Biting down on her lip, Charlie walked over to Allison. She opened her mouth to say something but there really weren't any words. Actually there were. There were plenty of words. She could say that Scott would be fine, she could say why he would be fine, she could say why the killer wouldn't touch him. She could say all of those things, but she wouldn't. Even thought she knew how much Allison needed it. So instead she took Allison's hand in hers and just stood there.

At first Allison didn't look at her. Other than the fact that she was holding Charlie's hand, she didn't even acknowledge that the other girl was there. But after a few moments, Allison turned towards Charlie, tears still spilling out of her eyes, and lunged towards her. Charlie wrapped her arms tightly around Allison's tiny form and the girl buried her face into Charlie's hair. The two of them simply stood there like that until the sobs racking Allison's body began to fade away. And as they did, all any of them were left with was silence and uncertainty.

Eventually Allison pulled away from Charlie, and Charlie walked to the other side of the room, leaning against the wall and slowly sliding down until she was sitting on the floor. It felt like she was in a tomb. She just hoped they would manage to claw their way out of it.

**So there you go. I hope you liked it. A little more 'inventive' Charlie and then there's her ever deteriorating relationship with Jackson. **

**Please review! Pretty please. I'm getting so close to 300 I can almost taste it! I crave external validation!**

**As per usual, I'm sorry about grammar and spelling mistakes.**


	21. I'll Tell You No Lies

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to Skittleslover3, katiesgotagun, SimplyKelly, Guest 1, Guest2/Jaiime95, Guest 3, Guest 4, TheMMMG, ScornedxRose, easythrowaway, Sophie-Anne, YelloSubmarine93, TameTheGhosts, HikariYamino, Jaiime95, becca1130, Micaela M, Roxu, Valkyrie101, Guest 5, and Guest 6 for reviewing. And the perennially awesome BrittWitt16.**

**Okay guys, I am so sorry this took so long. I swear it wasn't a bid for reviews or anything. I had the most exhausting week ever. First there was work and then my internships. Then I got to be the additional P.A. on a TV set which was totally awesome but had me working from 5:00am to 9:00pm. Then I got to spend an entire night trying to sleep in the emergency room waiting room after my dad found my sister unconscious and had to bring her there, so that was a thing. And then there was an incident with a poodle who had a serious attitude problem. Basically this week has been equal parts awesome and brutal suckfest, but it has kept me insanely busy and sleep deprived. So I apologize if some of this chapter seems garbled, but I was just awake 22 hours straight followed by like 4 hours of sleep, so…..yeah. Anywho, hope you like it.**

Chapter 20 – I'll Tell You No Lies

"I—I don't understand how this could happen."

Allison was perched on the counter at the far wall of the classroom, her feet folded underneath her. Her hands were clasped together and she was holding them close to her mouth as her left foot twitched with a sort of manic energy that was almost pathological in nature. She had stopped crying now, but her eyes were still red and her face still screwed up into a pained expression. She had lapsed back into that familiar state of terrified confusion that had been so prevalent that evening. Jackson, Lydia, and Stiles were all standing near her, leaning against the wall next to the door, just outside the range of the window, but Charlie had opted for one of the desks, far off from the door.

Charlie sat quietly at the desk, hands folded and resting on the table, while the others whispered frantically among themselves. Instead of taking part in hushed whispers, she took steady breaths, forcing herself to be calm. This was how she responded to intense fear and trauma. Once all of the action had faded, she powered down like a defective robot and stayed still. It was a defense mechanism, really. If you stayed still, maybe whatever was coming for you—be it an alpha hunting her down in a high school or a neurosurgeon trying to find her in a crowded hospital waiting room—wouldn't be able to find her. The moment she had the time to take a breath, she would come to a full stop.

She wasn't good with people. Charlie was self-aware enough to know that much—she was terrible with people. At least when it came down to the important stuff. With the frivolous conversational stuff she was pretty freaking awesome. She talked fast enough and made enough jokes that people enjoyed her company and she could deal with the typical small time drama—couple fights, that kind of thing—but when it came to full-on fear of death, emotionally crippling issues, she was useless. She could barely deal with her own emotions let alone everybody else's all at once. So instead of inflicting her own weird pathologies on everyone else, she kept to herself and she kept calm. She knew she should say something that made everybody feel better, but she couldn't think of what it was. And the longer she stood next to her friends and listened to their desperate questions, the longer she would have to lie to them.

"What is this—why would he lie about this?" Allison choked out through a heavy sob. "Why is Derek trying to kill us, why is…why is any of this happening? It doesn't make any sense."

There it was again. She was asking all the questions Charlie couldn't answer. Picking nervously at her fingernails, Charlie glanced at the four others in the room. Lydia was completely quiet. It was really unsettling to see her so submissive. Lydia was supposed to be loud, brash, and the tiniest bit obnoxious in the best possible way. And then there was Allison freaking out and the person comforting her wasn't Lydia and it wasn't even Stiles. It was Jackson. He was being…._nice_, and that was setting off a whole lot of alarm bells. Charlie felt a frown tugging at the corner of her lips as she watched the two of them. There was something off about what was going on over there, and judging by the suspicious and insecure look on Lydia's face she suspected as much as well.

And then there was Stiles. He was leaning against the wall as well, but a little ways off from the others with his arms folded across his chest and a serious, pensive look on his face and watching Lydia carefully, judging whether or not she was okay. It occurred to her that this was probably the first time he had ever interacted with her outside of classes and lunch and that one ill-fated attempt to get her attention at the hospital. Being chased around in the dark by a killer—not the best first date ever. Especially seeing as she refused to move more than two feet away from Jackson. And then there was the added bonus that Scott was running around looking for a corpse in the dark while the alpha was roaming loose.

Sighing heavily, Charlie leaned forwards and rested her forehead on the table. She had to wait. That was all any of them could do really. Wait for Scott to come back, wait for Stiles's dad to check his messages, wait for the alpha to show up and eviscerate them all—there wasn't anything for her to contribute. She had considered poking her head up and asking everyone if they wanted to play a game of charades to pass the time, but she really didn't think the rest of them would go for it.

A few moments later, she heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor right next to her. She threw her head up and blinked in surprise. Stiles was standing next to her, pulling out a chair with his left hand and holding a small white plastic box. He slid into the chair and carefully placed the box on the table, making Charlie squint at it. It read 'First Aid'.

"What the hell is that?" she whispered, frowning at the box.

"It's a Lego set—we get to build a tiny castle," he shot back sarcastically. "It's a freaking First Aid kit, Oswin—what the hell does it look like?"

"I see what it is, Stilinski," she replied, rolling her eyes. "I'm wondering why it's here sitting on the desk instead of where it belongs in that back cabinet."

"Um, did you forget the part of the evening when you got your face sliced open?" he drawled out sarcastically, waving his hand in a circle around her face.

Charlie's frown deepened and she raised a hand to her face, running her fingers over her skin. As they brushed over her face, she felt a scabbed, puckered, vertical line that began just above her eyebrow and continued on the cheek below. That was right. One of those shards of had hit her when the alpha chucked the car battery through the window. It felt like so long ago now—in reality it had only been a few hours.

Stiles raised his eyebrows at her and let out a loud sigh, shaking his head. "Apparently you did." He undid the clasps to the kit and flipped open the lid, pulling out the hydrogen peroxide, a few cotton balls, the antibiotic cream and some Band-Aids. He quickly uncapped the hydrogen peroxide and grabbed one of the cotton balls, holding it to the bottle opening and shaking it. Once he was done he reached up to her face, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"You really don't have to do that," she muttered, glancing between his eyes and the assailing cotton ball.

Stiles dropped his arm and sat back in his seat, giving her a withering look. "Seriously? You just electrified a door and made an impromptu flamethrower. I think you've filled your badass quota for like the next three years. I know you're not used to it with all the independent-ish-ness, but how about you let someone else help you out for a change? Even Han Solo had Chewbacca."

Charlie made a face at him and snorted loudly. With him it always came back around to Star Wars. "So in this little scenario you're setting up," she said, gesturing between the two of them, "you would be Chewbacca?"

He froze there, his mouth open and his eyes squinting oddly. "That, bwah…..that's not exactly how I would put—"

"No, I can see it," Charlie said, smiling slightly. "Very loyal, loud, nobody ever understands what the hell he's talking about—you're totally Chewbacca. Don't get so offended. Chewbacca's freaking awesome."

"Yoda," he hissed, glowering at her and pointing at himself. "I am Yoda. Get your head out of your ass, Charlie. Now will you let me deal with this situation? Werewolves can smell blood, remember? You look like an extra in a crappy zombie movie."

"Stop it, Stilinski," she deadpanned. "You're making me blush."

"Would you just shut up for like half a second?" Stiles growled, raising his eyebrows at her.

Charlie rolled her eyes, but shifted so that she was facing him and allowed him to begin wiping at the crusted blood. Eventually he got through the thick, congealed scab and reached the cut underneath. Charlie winced as the hydrogen peroxide got into the cut and Stiles shot her an apologetic look, but kept wiping away the blood. It felt odd having him that close to her. She really wasn't used to having people all that close, or wanting to take care of her at all. Other than Mel of course. For some reason Stiles Stilinski did, and as he cleaned her up an uncomfortable knot began to form in the pit of her stomach. "So you're getting a bit of a crash course all this werewolf crap," he murmured, jolting her back into awareness. "How are you doing?"

She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat before shrugging. "Fine." He shot her a skeptical look. "Alright, not fine," she murmured quietly. "Scared shitless but coping. Wondering if Scott going out there is actually doing anybody any good whatsoever. Trying to think of how to get us out of here but coming up short. And I kind of have to pee."

"Sounds about right," Stiles replied, nodding to himself. He dabbed on some antibiotic cream and spread the Band-Aids out on her face before sitting back and admiring his handiwork. "There," he said, punching her in the shoulder. "Was that so hard?"

"Other than the fact that I feel like a toddler with a skinned knee?" she replied snarkily.

Stiles just leaned his elbows on the table and narrowed his eyes in her direction. "You're welcome, Charlie."

Charlie snorted lightly and leaned forwards as well, mimicking his posture. "Thanks, Stiles."

A short silence fell over the two of them. She waited for him to start tapping his hands against the surface of the table like he always did, but instead they stayed completely still. Charlie glanced over his shoulders at the others. They were still huddled by the door, whispering quietly. "Hey Stiles," she murmured, making him look up from the table. "I'm sorry." A confused look spread across his face. "About making you call your dad," she elaborated, nodding in his direction. "I'm sorry."

A dark expression flitted across his face, but he waved his hand dismissively. "It's fine."

"No, it's not," she said, shaking her head. She began to gnaw on her fingernails, trying to avoid eye contact. In calling his dad, he was dragging someone he loved into a dangerous situation. Putting yourself in danger was one thing. Putting someone else in danger—especially someone you care about—that was another matter entirely.

Charlie let out a long, shaky breath and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's not okay. If it was Mel I was calling—I just…I just get why you wouldn't want to. Why you'd rather spend a whole night or a week or a freaking month running around in here instead of—" She glanced up at him, but with the curious way he was looking at her made it impossible to maintain eye contact. "When someone's all you have, they're all you have. Most people don't get that. And I'm sorry that you were put in that position."

It was a few seconds before Stiles spoke up again. "It's okay, really," he whispered, nodding earnestly at her. "I was going to have to call him sooner or later." He paused for a moment, allowing a heavy silence to take hold. But then he let out a small snort. "And then there's the added bonus that I got to punch Jackson in the face. I'll have that memory to take with me."

"Oh, man, that was beautiful," Charlie said, choking down a light laugh. "Seriously, just seeing that made this whole traumatic experience totally worth it. I would make that the freaking screensaver on my laptop if I could."

He laughed lightly and nodded, glancing over at Jackson. And then he saw Lydia clinging to him and suddenly stopped laughing. All of the sudden Charlie felt a swooping feeling of sympathy for him. Probably all he wanted to do right now was make sure that she was okay, to take care of her, but as usual he was forced to keep his distance. "Do you think she's okay?" he asked, still looking intently at Lydia. He tore his eyes away from the red-head and looked at Charlie entreatingly. "I mean after her run in the alpha the first time she—"

"Got hopped up on Xanax and chardonnay?" Charlie supplied, pulling at the end of her braid nervously. "Yeah, it was rough for a few days. She got better though. I mean every once in a while she got this—this look, but she got better."

"But that was just when she caught a glimpse," Stiles hissed back urgently. "This time—this time the thing fell through the freaking ceiling! And we don't even have the mountain lion to pin it on any more!"

Taking a deep breath, Charlie looked over and studied Lydia. She still had that troublingly submissive posture and she still looked very, very small. She was in shock—they all were. But if Charlie had to put her faith in someone to beat the odds and come back swinging, it was Lydia Martin. She took in new information, formed new conclusions, and adjusted. She made chemical Molotov cocktails when they got locked in the chemistry room. Behind all that lip gloss and hairspray, there was a survivor.

"She will be," Charlie murmured, nudging Stiles with her elbow. "Lydia…she might be freaking out now, but she's resilient. There's nothing that can really keep her down for long. She's way too stubborn for that."

His eyes dropped to the table and he nodded in understanding, but he didn't look all that comforted. Charlie let out a long breath and ran her hands down her face. She never liked being in the chemistry class to begin with and being stuck in there for an untold amount of time, waiting to die, was beginning to feel like a bit of a metaphor. Part of her wished she was out with Scott roaming the halls and executing whatever stupid-ass plan he had come up with. Anything would be better than the waiting.

"Hey, Charlie?" he asked suddenly, turning back to face her. "Why do you smell like Mr. Hobson after one of his smoke breaks?"

Charlie frowned and sniffed at her shirt, suddenly confronted with the aggressive smell of fake flowers. "Oh," she whispered. "Um, after we got split up—" Stiles's eyes visibly darkened, making her pause for a moment. She glanced over at the others to make sure that none of them were listening before continuing quietly. "—Well when I got separated, I could hear the alpha following me around. I remembered that thing Scott said about the first time he shifted—going for Allison's jacket. I ditched mine and sprayed myself with a crapload of Hobson's air freshener stuff so the alpha couldn't smell me."

Stiles stared at her for a moment, gaping slightly, before letting out a long, low whistle and rubbing at the back of his neck. "You—you are kind of a genius."

Charlie smirked slightly but shook her head. "No, I'm not."

"H—yeah," he replied shortly. "Yeah, kind of are. I mean, who thinks of that kind of stuff?"

"I'm really not," she insisted, shaking her head. "I'm reasonably smart and I can think on my feet. That's all there is to it. Nothing more nothing less."

Then Stiles gave her a really strange look. "You do not know how to take a compliment, do you?"

Charlie pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders. "No, I can take compliments just fine. But I'm aware of my limitations and the way I see it if we end up in a lot of situations like this one you should be too. If you create expectations that are too high, you just end up disappointing everybody. I really don't see the point in pretending to be more or less than what I am. I'd just be wasting my time along with everybody else's."

Stiles gaped at her a little longer and shook his head. "Well that's one way to look at it, I guess. I can't decide if that's enlightened or just plain depressing."

"I'm a pragmatist," she replied simply. "You ask me a question, I'll answer it. You ask for my opinion, I'll give it to you. Actually I'll probably give you my opinion whether or not you ask for it. What you see is what you get." She turned to him and gave a wan smile. "I'm a simple person."

"Well that last part's just not true," Stiles said, raising his eyebrows at her. "That's a giant flashing neon sign of a lie. Like if a lie was exposed to gamma radiation and turned into the Hulk version of a lie, that would be what you just said."

"You calling me a liar, Stilinski," she growled, glaring at him dangerously.

He swallowed heavily, but nodded. "Y-yeah. In this highly specific and completely unique set of circumstances." He glanced at her worriedly. "You're not going to hit me again, are you?"

Charlie sighed heavily and stared out in front of her, lifting her hands in the air in submission. "Don't worry. You're safe."

"I should probably say thank you," he said nudging her in the shoulder.

She turned to him and frowned slightly. "For what?"

Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times and scratched at his forehead awkwardly. "I, uh, I mean back at the beginning," he mumbled, waving his hand in a circle like he was trying to roll back time. "Back when we were trying to get out of the school and the alpha blocked off the doors with the dumpster. You knew, right? That I was about to have a panic attack? All that 'quick, slow breaths' stuff."

"Yeah, I knew," Charlie murmured sympathetically. The expression on his face read like he wanted to know more, so she wiped at he eyes and cleared her throat. "My dad started getting them a few months before he—he, uh—before he…Yeah, anyways in retrospect it probably had something to do with him getting his diagnosis but he would start getting these attacks. The first time I drove him to the hospital because I thought he was having a heart attack. Anyways…I guess I started to recognize the early signs."

Stiles's eyebrows pulled together slightly in concern, but he seemed to recognize it wasn't a subject she wanted to dwell on so he barreled on. "Well anyways I wanted to say thanks," he mumbled. "It could have gotten bad. Plus, panic attacks….not exactly the biggest sign of bravery. I guess I'll have to keep working on that tough-guy image I was so close to perfecting."

Charlie frowned and turned in her seat so that she was facing Stiles full-on. "Are you really that stupid or are you just fishing for compliments?"

Stiles blinked at the rapid change in her tone and glanced around the room, confused. "What, uh, what are you talking about?"

"Stiles, you're pretty much the bravest person I know."

His eyes snapped up to hers, wide with surprise. He stared at her for a moment, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and his mouth hanging open, before he let out a disbelieving, self-deprecating snort. "Really? How exactly do you figure that? I've been freaking terrified this whole time."

"Stiles, look at where we are," she said, waving her hand around the room and lowering her voice to ensure the others couldn't hear. "Look at what we're facing. You don't have super-strength, you can't heal—you really don't have all that much working in your favor."

"I hope that there's a compliment somewhere in this monologue," he grumbled. "Because I think I'm going to have to start getting offended pretty soon."

"My point is that you have the most to risk," she continued, ignoring his slightly moody glowering. "Even with all of this, Scott's not really in danger. You are. And you're not here because you have to be. You're here because you're friend needs you and because it's the right thing to do." She shot him a little half-smile and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. "Being scared doesn't make you a coward just like being fearless doesn't make you brave. Being scared shitless but fighting anyway….that's what bravery is."

Stiles let out another snort and ran his hands down his face. "So you're quoting Churchill now?"

Charlie pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders. "Paraphrasing. Loosely."

"You realize that everything you just said about me applies to you too, right?" he replied, raising his eyebrows at her.

Charlie blinked and her eyes widened with a false innocence. "Does it?"

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You're an idiot."

"I thought I was a _genius_," she chirped back.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something else, probably something rambling and contradictory, but before he had the chance their attention was torn away by something much, much more troubling.

"Jackson, you handed me the sulfuric acid, right?" Lydia's voice whispered only just loud enough for them to hear. Immediately Charlie's and Stiles's heads both whipped around so that they were staring intensely at the girl, trying to read her. Lydia was looking curiously over at the table a few over from theirs, focusing on two brown bottles standing side by side. "It has to be sulfuric acid—it won't ignite if it's not."

"I gave you exactly what you asked for, didn't I?" he snapped defensively, baring his teeth at her like a cornered dog.

"Yeah," Lydia answered immediately, taken aback by the knee-jerk hostility. "Yeah, I'm sure you did."

Charlie swore under her breath and slumped down on the table, rubbing at her forehead and trying to offset the giant migraine that was threatening to form. She glanced back over her shoulder at Jackson, who for some reason was glaring directly at her with his jaw clenched and his eyes spitting fire.

"You don't think that he actually did that, do you?" Stiles hissed, leaning in close. "I mean, Jackson's a complete tool but he wouldn't knowingly sabotage Scott in a life or death scenario. Right?"

Charlie didn't answer immediately. Instead she bit down hard on her lip and traced her finger along the grooves that had been cut into the surface over the years. It was only when Stiles smacked her on the shoulder that she began to talk. She didn't look at him though, instead staring directly at the crude smiley face that had carved in. "Jackson is an insecure narcissist," she whispered. "And he blames all of his problems on Scott, like Scott has _stolen_ something of his." She wrenched her eyes away from that stupid, mocking smiley face and forced herself to look at Stiles. "Honestly? I could definitely see him sabotaging this." Her eyes slid past him so that she was looking back over her shoulder where Jackson was still holding onto Allison's shaking hands. "I could even see him trying to take something from Scott as some sort of revenge ploy."

Stiles followed her line of vision and paled visibly. "Allison? You think he's going to try and steal Allison. But he and Lydia are—"

"Answer me this Stiles," she whispered, propping her elbow up on the table and holding her head in her hand so she was facing him. "Has the happy couple actually seemed all that happy lately? They fight all the time. They've stopped making out in public. Do you really think that they're the golden pair that they were at the beginning of the year? Now Jackson is holding onto Allison's hand while Lydia's left pulling on the sleeve of his jacket? Tell me that doesn't seem off to you."

Stiles frowned and began tapping the outside of his thumb against the table. "What are you saying, Charlie?"

"I'm saying that that megalomaniacal ass-hat might crack a window for you, Stilinski."

As Charlie expected, those words kicked Stiles into a broody contemplation. She had certainly just given him a lot to think about, with regards to both Scott and Lydia. One thing she didn't expect were the weird, repeated glances he kept shooting in her direction. It was almost like he was expecting her to start laughing in his face and shout 'just kidding!' as loudly as she could. She wished it was a joke. Honestly she did. But she knew that Jackson played dirty, and that he didn't mind stepping on a few people to get to the top—even if that person was Lydia and especially if that person was Scott. And Allison? Well she was just collateral in his power play. Charlie crossed her arms across her chest and tucked her hands underneath her arms to hide the fact that they were bunching up into tight fists.

All of the sudden, chilling howl echoed the hallways, the force of it rattling the windows, shaking the glassware where it sat in the cabinets, and sending a shiver down her spine. It was the same sound she heard while she was alone, darting through the hallways, only this time immeasurably louder. Charlie twitched and instinctively jumped up from her chair, sending it clattering behind her. All of the muscles of her body tensed up, ready to run, but a steadying hand grasped her shoulder, holding her in place and allowing her brain to slow down long enough to actually assess the situation. It was just an echo. An exceptionally loud echo, but just an echo. She looked behind her to see Stiles standing at her shoulder and nodded in silent thanks.

The howl dissipated, the room slowly returning to the deafening silence of before, but no sooner had the stillness return another loud cry ripped through the air. Only this time it was much, much closer. Charlie's head snapped around, searching for the source of the noise, and they were drawn down to the ground. Jackson was on his hands and knees, screaming and spasming and clawing at the back of his neck like there was something he was trying to dig out of his skin. Stiles and Charlie scrambled towards him.

"Is he having a seizure or something?" Charlie said, dropping to her knees next to him. His face was contorted in pain and his face was turning a bright red with the effort. Charlie leaned over him checking to see what was wrong with him, something caught her eyes. Along the back of her neck there was a series of dark puncture marks—like he had been stabbed with a set of claws. She glanced up at Stiles her eyes wide, and he nodded to indicate that he had seen them as well. "Jackson?" she whispered, waving her hand in front of his face to get some sort of response.

Soon enough the screaming began to fade to pained whimpers. Charlie gestured at Lydia and Allison to help him up and the two of them reached down, grasping him under the arms and pulling him to his feet. As they yanked him up, he was still clutching at the back of his neck and hissing in pain.

"No, I'm fine," he managed to force out as they pulled him up. As soon as he had his footing he yanked himself out of their hands and stepped away from Allison and Lydia. The pain left his face and he was left with that all-too-familiar superior expression. "Seriously, I'm okay."

"That didn't sound okay at all," Allison said, her voice thick with concern.

"What's on the back of your neck?" Stiles asked, pointing just above the collar of Jackson's jacket.

Jackson wheeled around and slapped Stiles's hand away. Charlie bit down on her lip for a moment before reaching forward and grabbing Jackson's hand. She twisted it into a thumb-lock, making him let out a short cry of pain and forcing him to his knees.

"Charlie, what are you doing?!" Allison exclaimed, looking at her with wide, confused, and slightly scared eyes.

Charlie glanced up at Allison and Lydia with an apologetic expression, but didn't respond. Instead she reached for the collar of his jacket and yanked it down, revealing four distinct marks forming a semi-circle. Taking her hand that wasn't currently turning Jackson into a hostile, whimpering mess, she spread out her fingers, curling them so that each corresponded to a particular point. "What the hell is that?" she demanded, releasing her hold on him and steeling herself for the angry onslaught that would begin in 3….2….1….

Jackson spun around to face her, steely anger etched into every line of his face. "I swear to God, Oswin," he growled dangerously, advancing on her, "if you ever touch me again I'm going to rip your he—"

"Alright, let's just calm down here," Stiles said, stepping between her and Jackson and holding a hand up to stop him and staring them down.

Jackson continued to glower at them but backed off. Charlie on the other hand had no intention of letting anything go. "Look whatever it is on the back of your neck," she said in a carefully moderated tone, "you were grabbing at it while you were freaking out. Whatever trauma you might have sustained could—"

"There is no 'trauma'!" he said, using contemptuous air quotes. "It's a scratch—nothing happened! I told you! I'm fine!"

A short silence followed, filled with tense, uncertain glances. Finally Lydia let out a loud huff and folded her arms across her chest. "Well, it's been there for days," she breathed out, sneering at him slightly and clearly becoming more and more suspicious. "He won't tell me what happened."

"As if you actually care," Jackson snarled back, making Lydia blink.

At that point a cold wave of rage flooded through Charlie, turning her veins to ice. There was only one lasting reason that she tolerated Jackson or was willing to stay in his presence for more than ten minutes. That reason was Lydia. And tonight, watching all the crap he pulled—the sly smiles that he seemed to think nobody could see and the oddly calculated interactions with Allison—they were making her ability to tolerate him drop precipitously. And this was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Okay, let's get something straight here," Charlie growled back, taking a step towards Jackson and poking him hard in the chest. She raised her eyebrows and pointed to herself. "Me? I care just about as much about your general welfare as I'm sure you care about mine. But you know who cares? Your girlfriend does. So how about you stop being an asshole for like a millisecond and we try and figure this stuff out?"

"You know what, Oswin," Jackson growled, "I am getting really sick of listening to you talk. So why don't you shut the fuck up and make all our lives better? Or better yet keep talking and wander around in the hallways. Maybe Derek will shut you up and we'll have enough time to get away!"

"Do _not_ talk to her like that," Lydia said through gritted teeth.

"Alright, can we not argue for like half a second here?" Stiles interjected, holding his hands out like he was trying to get everyone to calm down.

Jackson's jaw twitched slightly but he turned away from them, instead opting to remain silent. Something which Charlie was eternally grateful for seeing as how, the more he said, the more Jackson's voice began to sound to her like nails on chalkboard. She had never really liked the guy, but she had understood why other people might like him. Lately, though…all of his redeeming characteristics—and there weren't many of them to begin with—began falling by the wayside.

"Where's Scott?" Allison asked in a tense whisper, running her hands through her hair. "He should be back by now."

"Hey," Charlie whispered, moving over to Allison and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Scott is looking for one guy with one set of keys in the entire school. It's a big school—that's a lot of rooms to check. He might be a while. Just because he isn't back yet doesn't mean something bad has happened to him."

Allison gnawed on her thumbnail anxiously and glanced up at Charlie. "It doesn't mean that something bad hasn't happened either."

A humming, tense silence hovered over them. Then all of the sudden the humming wasn't metaphorical anymore. There was a buzzing sound of crackling electricity followed by a distinct click emanating from the door. The five of them wheeled around in the direction of the noise. A figure stood outside the door, barely visible through that small pane of frosted glass, and it cast a shadow that was distinctly human-sized.

"Scott?" Allison asked quietly, taking a step to the door. And then that shadow darted away, leaving the six of them alone yet again. Allison ran to the door, pulling the chair out from under the handle and ripping away the electrical cord before grabbing hold of the handle and trying desperately to open it. But the handle was frozen in place. It had been locked from the outside. By Scott. "Scott!" she shouted, panic seeping into her voice. "Scott!"

"Where is he going?" Lydia whispered to herself.

"Scott!" Allison cried out again, one hand still trying to open the door handle while the other formed a fist, banging against the window. "Scott!"

"Stop," Lydia whispered, staring at the floor with her eyes darting back and forth like she was reading a book. She suddenly looked up and glanced around at all of them with an eager expression on her face. "Stop!" she exclaimed, this time with more force. Allison stopped banging on the door and wheeled around. Lydia turned around and stared at the window. "Do you hear that? Listen."

For a second they all stood completely still and the only thing that Charlie could hear was the sound of her own breathing. But then, slowly, the sound reached her ears. It was sirens. Lots of them. The five of them ran towards the window, pressing their faces against the glass, and stared at the parking lot. At first all they could see was Stiles's Jeep and her Impala way off in the distance, but after a few seconds, a police cruiser pulled into view. Followed by another. And another. They were going to be okay. A relieved laugh forced its way out of her mouth as she watched those flashing lights. But when she glanced over at Stiles, the smile dropped off her face. His face was frozen into a concerned scowl, his eyes fixated on the men three stories below as they piled out of their cars and ran into the building. She turned to stare back out the windows, but she reached out her hand and grabbed onto his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He twitched slightly when she did, but eventually squeezed back.

Now they just had to wait.

All the television and movies Charlie had watched over the years had given Charlie a very specific impression about how emotionally traumatic hostage situation. There would be an outside shot to the five of them peering out the window with looks of relief on their faces, the lights of the police cars reflecting against the windows. Then it would fade into an aerial shot of the parking lot and outside of the school, the camera pulling back further as the guys with the guns ran into the building. Then, finally, it would cut straight to some scene where they get to reflect on what exactly it was that had just happened.

Turns out, real life wasn't nearly that neat. There was no clean jump-cut. Instead the lot of them were led out of the room by a gaggle of deputies. Then they were asked a lot of questions, the answer to each of which was 'I don't know' and people kept offering them blankets that they didn't need for a reason that Charlie really couldn't understand at all. It was all kind of anticlimactic. There was supposed to be some big emotional release at the end of this kind of story, right? But there wasn't. Charlie was just left waiting for whatever was about to happen next.

When the police's curiosity was satisfied, all of them but Stiles made their way to the front of the building. Charlie broke off from Lydia, Allison, and Jackson, meandering down the hallway to the French room so that she could grab her jacket. For some reason when she snatched up the jacket and shrugged back onto her shoulders, it made her feel oddly safe.

After switching off the French tape that was still playing on a loop and stowing the stereo, she abandoned the room and made her way to the front of the school. When she got there, Jackson was sitting in his Porsche, which was idling in front of the school and Allison was sitting on the steps just outside, like she was waiting for someone. Charlie was just about to wonder where Lydia had gone off to when the girl appeared right next to the door and threw her arms around Charlie's neck, wrapping her in a tight hug. It took Charlie a second to respond, but soon enough her arms encircled the red-head as well, pulling her in close. It only lasted a few seconds before Lydia let go and pushed Charlie back gently.

After rearranging her hair and clearing her throat musically, Lydia took a step back and looked at Charlie seriously. "You're my best friend, Charlie," she enunciated carefully. "You know that, right? I don't think I've ever said it before."

Charlie's eyebrows pulled together in an expression of confusion. She exhaled sharply and clapped a hand on Lydia's shoulder. "Of course I know that. I'm the only one that calls you on all you crap. I'm invaluable to you." Lydia pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows expectantly making Charlie let out a soft snort. "You're my best friend to, Lydia. Your crap is something I'll never get tired of calling you out on. You're stuck with me."

"For better or for worse?" Lydia drawled out skeptically.

Charlie let out a loud scoff and rolled her eyes. "For better, for you at least. What I'm getting out of it is still kind of up in the air."

"Real nice, Charlie," Lydia muttered, flipping her hair over her shoulder and pretending to be offended. Just then Jackson leaned heavily on the horn, causing Lydia to scowl and wave him off. "Do you want a ride home?"

Charlie bit her lip and shook her head. "No," she murmured. "No, I think I need to clear up a few more things with the police."

"Like what?" she demanded incredulously. "They've already asked you all the questions. None of us know anything."

"I want to find out what the police think they know," Charlie shot back, inclining her head towards the flashing lights.

"Why do you care?" Lydia demanded. "Why do you want to drag this out? It's over. Just put it behind you and move the hell on." She stared at Charlie a few moments before sighing heavily in defeat. "Fine. Be a weirdo. But tomorrow morning you're coming over so we can figure out how to cover that—" she pointed at the scratch on Charlie's face "—that _blemish_ up. We don't need Charlie to look like Chucky the killer doll."

"I'm glad you're okay too, Lydia."

Giving Charlie one more nod, Lydia made her way over to Jackson's car and gave Charlie and Allison a wave before driving off. Charlie watched the car disappear into the distance, and then her eyes were pulled elsewhere. Allison was sitting on the steps to the school by herself, gnawing on her thumbnail and her knee bouncing up and down impossibly fast. It wasn't because she was panicking—they were safe so she wasn't panicking anymore. She was thinking. She was thinking hard about something she didn't want to think about.

Dragging her feet slightly, Charlie dropped onto the step next to Allison. She didn't way a word, instead opting to wait for Allison to start talking. It was up to her to dig up whatever she was thinking about. After about a minute, Allison ran a hand through her hair, pulling back the curtain that was dividing the two of them.

"Charlie, what happened to you in that chemistry room?" she asked, frowning at her friend. "You just—you just checked out. You shut down. And then you talk to Stiles instead of—I'm sorry. I know this must sound really, really selfish, but I could have used you in there. Especially after Scott—"

Allison's words were abruptly cut off as she covered her mouth with her hand. There it was. The center of her anxieties. It had nothing to do with residual stress from the attack, it had to do with Scott's role in it. Charlie let out a heavy sigh and ran her hands down her face. "Remember back at the beginning of the year when I told you I was horrible at advice?"

Allison's eyebrows furrowed together in a frown. "Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Allison, I've never really depended on anybody, like ever. And the flipside of that is that I've never really had anyone who depended on me. I don't do….emotional stuff all that well. I don't have the experience—I just don't know what to do. And I try to avoid the serious stuff because once I go to a serious place…I tend to get lost there. It takes a lot for me to come back."

Allison looked at her again, but this time with concern instead of disappointment. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay, I get it."

"So what about Scott?" Charlie interjected, changing the topic. Allison paled slightly and Charlie responded with a humorless smirk. "Yeah, I figured as much."

"I thought you wanted to stay away from serious topics," Allison responded sadly. She glanced over at Charlie, and from the look in her eye it was something she needed to talk about. Allison shifted slightly in her seat so that she was sitting nearer to Charlie and let out a long, shaky breath. "He's inside with Stiles spinning some story for the cops. All of that stuff in the school, all of that stuff about Derek, all the lies? I just don't know if I can trust him anymore. How can I be with someone I don't trust?"

Charlie felt all of her muscles tense up. She wasn't sure exactly what road Allison was going down, but she was pretty damn sure she wasn't going to like where it led. Scott had lied—he had lied big and poorly and Charlie couldn't help him out of that hole. But maybe she could give him a ladder.

"Look, Allison," she said in a carefully mediated tone. "This night—it's been crazy. None of us know for sure what we saw and…..But we're all okay. And Scott may have lied about the details, but he never lied about his intentions. He just wanted everybody to be safe, you especially. The only reason he would but himself at risk would be to save you. You know that, right?"

"Maybe," Allison muttered to herself. But she didn't look convinced.

"You know what?" Charlie drawled out causally. "I think that twenty years from now, we're going to look back on this and laugh." Allison shot Charlie a withering stare, but let out a light snort. Charlie gasped theatrically and smacked her in the shoulder. "See, you're doing it already!"

All of the sudden there was the sound of muffled voices growing louder and louder as they approached. And soon enough, they were distinguishable. It was Scott, Stiles, and Sheriff Stilinski. Allison twisted around and looked over her shoulder at the door, an uneasy expression on her face.

"I can't see him right now," she whispered, scrambling to her feet. "I just—I can't."

Charlie reached up and grabbed her hand. "Allison, you're going to have to see him sooner or later."

"Well I guess it's going to be later, then." With that, Allison shoved her hands in her pockets and began walking out across the parking lot through the line of cars and flashing lights. Charlie felt uneasy watching her go—like she was watching the end of something.

As she pulled herself to her feet, three figures stepped out of the front set of doors. Charlie leaned against the railing near the base of the stairs as they approached.

"You're sure it was Derek Hale?" Sheriff Stiliski asked as he pushed his way through the doors.

"Yes," Scott grumbled, sounding like it was definitely not the first time he had been asked that question.

"I saw him too," Stiles piled on, though he didn't seem happy about it.

"What about the janitor?" Scott insisted.

Sheriff Stilinski let out a soft sigh. "Still looking."

"Did you look under the bleachers?" Scott stammered out. "U—under them!"

"Yes, Scott, we looked!" the sheriff said, his frustration mounting. "We pulled them out just like you asked. There's nothing."

"I'm not making this up!" Scott growled.

"I know," Sheriff Stilinski replied. "I believe you—I do."

"No you don't!" Scott shouted back as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Stiles sidled up next to her, leaning against the railing next to her as they watched the situation devolve. "You have this look like—like you feel bad for me! Like you want to believe me, but I know you don't!"

Sheriff Stilinski's face lost some of that hard frustration that was written into it as he saw Scott's desperation. "Listen to me," he murmured. "We're going to search this whole school—we're going to find him. Okay? I promise." Scott didn't seem to believe him though. In Charlie's experience, any time an adult used the words 'I promise,' they were either lying or being patronizing. Sheriff Stilinski didn't strike her as a liar, so it had to be the latter option. Then a voice called for him from across the parking lot, drawing his attention elsewhere. "Stay," he murmured, pointing between them. "All three of you."

"What?" Charlie demanded, throwing her hands in the air. "What did I do?"

Sheriff Stilinski just waved her off and continued over to the person calling him. Once he was out of earshot, Charlie let out a loud sigh and let her shoulders sag in relief. "Well that's something I definitely never, ever want to do again," she murmured, scratching at her forehead, only to find that most of it was covered up by an unnecessarily large Band-Aid.

"Well we survived," Stiles said with a sort of relieved enthusiasm, elbowing her in the side. "You know? We outlasted the alpha." But despite his enthusiasm, Scott continued to glower darkly, making Stiles falter. "That's still good, right? Being alive."

"I'm generally in favor of being alive," Charlie said, nodding her head. "At the very least it's better than the alternative."

The pained expression didn't leave Scott's face. Instead he looked between them with something akin to guilt. "When we were in the chemistry room," he said in a voice that sounded like someone giving confession, "it walked right by us. You don't think it heard us—you don't think it knew exactly where we were?"

"Of course it did," Charlie replied. "The alpha's a dick. It could have killed me when we were separated. It stared straight at me from like a hundred yards off and then walked away. This whole thing was to mess with us—you, specifically. If the alpha wants your loyalty it's not going to get it by killing all of your friends. That plan is a giant mountain of suck."

"No, that isn't it," Scott insisted. "I wasn't just trying to mess with us."

"Well then, how come we're still alive?" Stiles asked, shrugging his shoulders.

"It wants me in its pack!" Scott exclaimed a little too loudly. He snapped his mouth shut and looked around for eavesdroppers before continuing in a quieter tone. "But I—I think first…I have to get rid of my own pack."

Charlie blinked and cleared her throat hostilely. "Say what now?"

Stiles stared at him for a moment before crossing his arms across his chest defensively. "What do you mean? What old pack?"

"He means us, idiot," Charlie whispered harshly.

"Allison," Scott murmured, clearly too preoccupied to have heard her. "Jackson, Lydia, Charlie…." He looked up at Stiles with an expression of regret. "You."

Stiles's mouth dropped open as realization washed over him. "The alpha doesn't want to kill us."

Scott turned away from them, shaking his head. "He wants me to do it."

"Well, I've got a solution for that," Charlie said, raising her hand in the air. "How about…..not killing us. It's a crazy plan, but it just might work."

"It's not that simple," whispered in a serious tone. "That's not even the worst part."

Stiles's eyes widened and he let out a loud scoff. "How in h—holy hell is that not the worst part, Scott?"

Scott bounced up and down on his heels before turning back to face them. And when he did, he looked like he was facing down a firing squad. "Because when he made me shift…..I wanted to do it! I wanted to kill you! All of you."

Charlie didn't really have a response to that. And for what was probably the first time in the history of the world, Stiles didn't either. When she looked over at him, his eyes were shining with tears that he wouldn't let fall. For the eighteenth time that night, Charlie felt like she was trespassing. She shoved her hands deep in her pockets and hunched forwards, making herself as small as possible.

"Scott, remember how you're the Hulk," she murmured, looking at him pointedly. "Bruce Banner calls him the 'Other Guy', right? Maybe you have an 'Other Guy' too."

Scott looked at her confusedly for a moment, but then realization spread across his face and he seemed slightly less tormented. Then his eyes slid past her and he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Frowning slightly, Charlie turned around to follow his line of vision and saw his boss, Deaton, sitting on the edge of the ambulance with a paramedic checking him out. Scott immediately began to walk over to him and Stiles and Charlie exchanged a glace before following him as well.

"There you are!" Deaton said in a voice a little too cheerful for someone with a massive concussion.

Scott gaped slightly as he approached the man. "How—how did you?"

"Get out?" Deaton supplied, smiling up at Scott. "Not easily. And from what they tell me I'm alive because of you. I think I owe you a raise." Then his eyes travelled past Scott and fell on Charlie's face. "Sorry, have I met you before?"

"Nope," Charlie answered immediately, shaking her head. "No. Not acquainted. I've just got one of those faces."

Sheriff Stilinski appeared from behind them and grabbed Stiles's shoulder, pulling him away slightly. "Guys come on. Let's let the EMTs do their job—you can talk to him later." They began walking away from the ambulance, but Scott broke off immediately, jogging across the parking lot. Charlie squinted into the darkness and saw Allison's profile. Her eyes fell shut and she pinched the bridge of her nose. Yet another thing that was going to go to shit.

Charlie ripped her eyes away from the pair and trailed after Sheriff Stilinski as he directed the two of them towards his squad here. "Stay here," he said harshly, pointing at the car. "And since the three of you—" He turned around and saw that Scott had disappeared and sighed heavily, letting his head sag. "Since the _two_ of you seem to have difficulty understanding that, I'll make myself more clear. If either of you leaves this spot, I'm locking you in the back of this patrol car."

"Can I recreate scenes from 'Beverly Hills Cop'?" Charlie asked brightly.

Sheriff Stilinski didn't respond, instead planting his hands on his hips and staring down at them with raised eyebrows. "So Charlie, I take it you'll be wanting a ride home?"

Charlie pressed her lips together in a thin line and nodded. "Yes, sir. If it's not too much trouble."

"Nope, not a problem," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "I just have a few more things to tie up here and then we can ship out."

He turned away to walk back towards the school, but before he could Charlie called out after him. "Sheriff Stilinski?" He stopped and looking back at her over his shoulder. Charlie cleared her throat and continued. "I was—um, I was just wondering if my aunt had to know about this."

He blinked at her and frowned slightly. "You don't think she'll notice that giant bandage on your face?"

"I can be pretty klutzy sometimes," she replied with a shrug. "She worries about me so much already—I don't want to add anything more to that."

"Charlie, you were part of an incident that involved a potential homicide," he enunciated carefully. "I have to notify your guardian." Charlie's shoulders sagged slightly, and a sympathetic look crossed his face. "Look, I'll be done in a few minutes. Wait here."

Sheriff Stilinski wandered back to the school and Charlie perched on the hood of the car and held her head in her hands. "Shit," she muttered under her breath. "I know that Mondays are generally supposed to suck, but this one just took that bar and shot it straight into space."

Charlie felt a slight jostling of the car and looked up to see that Stiles had sat down next to her. He cleared his throat and rubbed at the back of his neck before turning to face her. "You don't have to keep doing this, you know," he said, staring at her meaningfully. "What I said before still applies. None of this is on you."

"Yeah," Charlie replied, raising her eyebrows at him. "But what I said still applies. The alpha just went after some of my closest friends. And Jackson. If you think I'm letting that go then you've undergone some sort of severe head trauma in the past few hours. That asshole is going down."

Stiles stared at her a moment longer before laughing and shaking his head. "You are unbelievable."

"I try." Charlie blew out a long breath and glanced over at the black Camaro that was still parked in front of the school. "So I guess Derek's not dead then," she muttered under her breath. "So he's screwed."

Stiles's head snapped up and he looked at her questioningly. "What do you mean?"

"They didn't find the body," Charlie elaborated, gesturing at the Camaro. "If he's alive then he is now officially a fugitive."

"Maybe the alpha just moved the body like he did with the janitor."

Charlie laughed bitterly and pinched the bridge of her nose. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a trend going on here, Stiles. It tends towards the screwiest, messiest, most inconvenient and complicated conclusion possible."

An abrupt, contemplative silence fell over the both of them. Charlie pulled on the end of her braid and stared at the ground. She still had French homework to do. How could she have forgotten about that? And she hadn't fixed any dinner for Mel. Son of a bitch. What would Mel say when she found out about all of this. Charlie wouldn't be surprised if she never let her leave the house and started homeschooling her.

"Charlie, are you okay?"

"What?" Charlie asked, suddenly snapping out of the mental whirlpool she was being sucked into.

"Are you okay?" Stiles repeated more slowly. He was giving her this worried look that she really didn't care for. She wasn't the type of person who needed to be worried about.

"Please," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm always okay."

Stiles pressed his lips together in a thin line and nodded, but he didn't look like he believed her. "You're a terrible liar."

"Shut up," Charlie scoffed. "I'm an awesome liar. I'm freaking Meryl Streep. That's the plus side of always telling people exactly what you think. You tell the truth so often people never expect you to lie. And I'm not lying. I'm fine."

Stiles rolled his eyes skeptically and leaned towards her, quickly wrapping her into a tight hug. It took her a few moments, but eventually Charlie's arms tightened around him as well. The both of them held on tight and Charlie buried her face in his shoulder. He smelled like popcorn and Oldspice. If Charlie was being honest, she had needed that hug. The way she saw it, after a trauma there were three types of hugs. The first type was when you were vulnerable and needed support. The second was when you were trying to support someone else. And then there was the third type. That one was a hug of mutual support and understanding—where both parties involved gave just as much as they got and when it ended, even though nothing had really happened, you left feeling a bit better. Those hugs she had given to Allison and Lydia—those were the second type of hug. This one was the third. And Charlie kind of felt like she and Stiles were dragging each other across the finish line.

Charlie wasn't sure how long the hug lasted. Probably too long, but at that point it was probably something they both needed. They finally broke apart, turning to face forwards again and clearing their throats awkwardly. They sat in silence for a while, watching the police running around in front of them. Charlie's face scrunched up into an expression of confusion. "So what the hell do we do now?" she muttered to herself.

"What do you mean?" Stiles asked.

"I mean what do we do next?" she said, throwing her hands in the air. "What do you do after you spend the night being stalked by a crazed killer? Do you get drunk? Eat a crapload of junk food? Steal a car and go for a joyride?"

"Okay, I didn't just hear that," a voice said from somewhere behind them. Stiles and Charlie twisted around in their seats to see his dad coming up behind them. Charlie winced and gave him an awkward wave. "Hey, Sheriff Stilinski….."

"You want to know what happens next?" he drawled out. "You're going home. You're going to go to sleep. Neither of you is going to cause any more trouble for the rest of this year. Scratch that, for the rest of this decade."

Stiles winced theatrically and shook his head. "Is that really a realistic goal, dad?"

"Yeah," Charlie tacked on. "Given the way things have been going, it doesn't exactly seem likely. You should probably aim lower."

Sheriff Stilinski stared at them both, looking thoroughly unamused. "Both of you get in the car."

The two of them threw their hands in the air and hopped off the hood of the car. Sheriff Stilinski directed them to the back seat, locking them both in because quote 'there had been enough delinquency for one evening'.

The car ride was quiet as she and Stiles both stared off into space. Maybe that was what you did after being chased around by a crazed sociopath. You reflect. By the time the sheriff dropped Charlie off at her house and she started trudging up the steps, all of that residual adrenaline had left Charlie's system, leaving her tired and deflated. What she needed now more than anything else was sleep. But part of her didn't want to. She wasn't sure what she would see when she closed her eyes.

**So there it is! Please review. It makes me oh-so happy. And after the week I've had I kind of need it.  
**

**Oh and Jaiime95 asked if I've considered someone making a fan video for this fic. All I can say to that is if someone did, I would be incredibly flattered. As Charlie at this point I'd say I would cast Olesya Rulin. She hasn't been in much but I saw the trailer for this movie called 'Apart' that looks like it would be a goldmine for footage. And I've never said this before, but for the role of Melody Oswin I would cast Alonal Tal.**

**SOUNDTRACK UPDATE: The song for the end of this chapter is 'Soldier On' by The Temper Trap. They're the band that did 'Sweet Disposition'—the song from the '500 Days of Summer' Soundtrack—but that's one of my least favorite of their songs (not because it's bad but because the other ones are so awesome). You should check it out.**


	22. Requiem

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to ScornedxRose, easythrowaway, Skittleslover3, TameTheGhosts, becca1130, MessintheMirror, TheMMMG, Undeniable Weirdness, suzi3499, Jessiscrazy9108, and Guest for reviewing! And, as always, to BrittWitt16.**

**Sooooo sorry, you guys! It might take me longer to get out chapters. I've been really busy and suffering a bit of writer's block on this story, but I'll push through! Also, I invested a crazy amount of time in that dream sequence this chapter begins with. But at least this one's really long!**

Chapter 21 - Requiem

_The hallway was completely dark. Or at least it should have been. It was the middle of the night and there were no lights around to see by, but there seemed to be a faint aura of light hanging around her reflecting against the walls of lockers and illuminating the cheap laminate floors beneath her feet like she was holding a lantern. But her hands were empty._

_Charlie spun around, taking in her surroundings. She wasn't supposed to be at school. The police had shut it down and locked it up after they found the janitor's body. They had wrapped the school up in crime scene tape and placed a guard outside so that there wouldn't be another 'incident', so how was it that she had gotten in? Charlie didn't remember breaking in or why she was there in the first place. Spinning on her heel, she marched down the hallway and to the front door, hell-bent on getting out of the place. She placed her hand on the front door's handle bar, ready to push it open and meet the cool night air._

_Bang!_

_The sound of a door slamming shut made Charlie stop in her tracks. She had slightly cracked the door, allowing cold wind and moonlight to flow through. Charlie stared at that small crack, contemplating the possibility of freedom and was just about to open the door further when something else made her stop._

_"Help!"_

_It was the voice of a child-a small girl-calling out in the dark, and the sound of it sent a chill down her spine. When she was a kid she had been afraid of the dark, so whoever the child was she would be terrified. Charlie stepped away from the door, allowing it to close behind her with an echoing slam and continued back the way she came. "Hello?" she called out hesitantly. "Hello? You don't need to be scared! I'm here to help you. I'll take you home! You don't have to worry anymore!"_

_That eerie childlike didn't respond. Instead all she heard were sobs. They were soft and yet deafeningly loud at the same time and the way that they reverberated against the metal lockers made it impossible for her to hone in on their source. Charlie wound around the hallways calling out for the little girl, but however much she walked, she didn't get any closer. The hallways seemed to stretch and twist to an impossible labyrinth, and eventually Charlie didn't even know where she was anymore. And that meant she didn't know how to get out._

_Panic began to claw at Charlie's throat and she gulped down air, trying to remain calm. She picked up her pace, abandoning her search for the little girl and instead just looking for a way out. Eventually that fast walk turned into a run. Charlie sprinted down the hallways, but every time she turned a corner, she found herself staring at the same stretch of hallway she had just abandoned. Her breathing became heavier, coming out in pants as the feeling of helplessness engulfed her. She tried to dodge into some of the classrooms lining the hall, but as soon as she reached for the door handle, it would disappear. It felt like hours that she was trapped in there while some unseen force watched her and mocked her, like she was a rat in a maze._

_Rounding yet another corner, Charlie tripped collapsed to the ground, the momentum of her run sending her tumbling over the tiles. Eventually Charlie skidded to a halt and immediately scrambled to her feet. She brushed off her clothes and stepped forwards to keep moving, but as soon as her eyes travelled down the hall she came to a dead stop._

_At the end of the hall stood a little girl, no more than six years old, wearing a dirty T-shirt and ripped jeans, hair pulled back in braided pigtails, and clutching a stuffed animal that Charlie couldn't make out at that distance. She was still crying softly, but the sound had lost that oddly menacing quality it had seemed to carry before. "Hey!" Charlie whispered in a comforting voice. "Hey, it'll be okay. Don't worry. I'll take care of you." She took a careful step towards the girl, trying not to scare her, and the girl took a hesitant step towards her as well. "Where are you're parents?" Charlie asked quietly. "Where are your dad and mom?"_

_"Gone," she girl replied simply, her head sagging so that Charlie couldn't see her face._

_Charlie took another step towards the girl. "Well we can find them."_

_"No we can't," she muttered out through sniffles._

_"Of course we can," Charlie murmured in as comforting a tone possible._

_The two of them slowly approached each other, each of their steps matching. Soon enough Charlie was standing right in front of the girl, whose head was still sagging and who was still clutching what she saw to be a stuffed kangaroo named Leonard. She reached out a hand to place on the girl's shoulder, but before the finger reached her they came into contact with something cool, flat, and smooth. Charlie jerked her hand back in surprise. Her eyes finally expanded their focus to something beyond that little girl, and that's when she realized it. The hallway behind the girl was identical to the one behind her, only everything had been reversed. She reached forwards again and pressed her palm flat against the surface. Her heart leapt in her chest and her blood ran cold as she took several steps backwards. She was staring at a giant mirror._

_"What the hell?" she whispered under her breath, her eyes widening as she stared at the small, shaking figure occupying the place her own reflection should be._

_The girl finally raised her head, and Charlie backed away even further. The pigtails, the torn jeans, Leonard the kangaroo—she was staring at the six-year-old version of herself. And the tears spilling out of those wide, blue eyes were black. And then Charlie felt moisture streaming down her own face in small rivulets. Slowly, she lifted a hand and pressed her fingers to her cheeks. And when she pulled her hand back, it looked like it was covered in black ink._

_"I've been here so long," the little girl—Charlie—whispered, still shaking with small, weak sobs. "I've been alone this whole time."_

_"Shut up," Charlie bit out with a hostility she hadn't expected._

_But the little girl didn't listen. She just blinked and looked up at Charlie with big, watery eyes. "They left me here all alone. Why do they keep leaving me all alone?"_

_"I said shut up," Charlie snapped. "Shut up and stop crying."_

_The girl on the other side of the mirror didn't seem to hear her. She kept crying and crying until Charlie balled up her hands into small fist. Crying didn't solve any problems. It didn't make people come back for you. Then all of the sudden, she felt something heavy and rough in her right hand. She looked down only to realize that she was holding a brick. Pausing for a moment, Charlie glanced between the brick and the mirror. The black tears that continued to stream down her cheeks began to cloud her vision and then, without thinking, she hurled the brick at the mirror just above the little girl's head. The glass shattered, leaving small shards to fall to the ground like a curtain being dropped._

_And then, as the remains of the mirror spilled across the floor, she found herself confronted by what was behind it. A wall of black except for those two shining red eyes. And then a high, piercing shriek penetrated the air._

Charlie sat bolt upright and flung her eyes open, letting them rove searchingly around her surroundings as she tried to orient herself. Her heart was pounding in her chest like it was trying to break free from its prison of ribs and her skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, leaving her feeling like she had just completed a freaking marathon. For a while her eyes slid over her the scene before her, her brain failing to process any of the information it was taking in, but after a while she realized she was in her room. Safe. No threat, no alpha, and the only shrieking noise was emanating from her phone.

Charlie grasped around, her hand flailing around a bit before her fingers managed to find their way around her phone. Wiping the sleep out of her eyes, Charlie looked down at the screen only to see Allison's name flashing across it. Her stomach jumped slightly as she read the name. She quickly punched the 'send' button and pressed the phone to her ear. "Allison, hey," she sighed out, trying to catch her breath. "What's up? How's it going?"

"Hi Charlie," Allison said in an oddly deflated sounding. "I didn't wake you did I?"

"No," Charlie said, straightening up and shaking her head even though Allison couldn't see her. "No, you're fine." She cleared her throat and chewed on her fingernails for a moment before continuing. "How—um—how are you doing?"

"My dad is still freaking out," she murmured into the phone. "I think he's taking measurements of my windows so that they can be fitted with bars and looking up GPS trackers online. I'll be lucky if he lets me out of the house again before my eighteenth birthday. The last couple of days….they haven't been easy."

"Yeah," Charlie replied through a bitter laugh. "Tell me about it. Mel looks like she's a loud sneeze from locking me in my room for the foreseeable future." Charlie paused for a moment. "How are you doing with…the other bit? You and Scott—you really haven't said what happened or how you—"

"I really don't want to talk about that right now," Allison said quickly. "That's—that's not why I'm calling."

"You realize that you're going to have to talk about it eventually, right?" Charlie prodded gently.

"Yeah," Allison replied. "But eventually doesn't mean today."

"Okay," Charlie whispered. "Okay, I'm no stranger to denial. But if you ever do want to talk about—"

"You'll be the first one I call," Allison said in a placating tone.

A silence hung between the two of them, neither of them speaking. Charlie got the distinct impression that Allison wanted to ask her something, but wouldn't just come out and say it. "Um, Allison?" she said tentatively. "Don't get me wrong—I'm really glad you called—but is there a reason you called?"

"Yeah," Allison murmured. "Yeah, I do. You, um, you've mentioned that you have self-defense training? Krav Maga? I know this is pretty weird but I was wondering if you could drop by later today and—well and teach me some of it. If you want—I mean you don't have to."

"Sure," Charlie answered immediately. "Absolutely."

Allison breathed out what sounded like a sigh of relief. "Thanks. And you can stay for dinner after too. Aunt Kate has been wanting to get to know you better."

"Great!" Charlie replied tightly. "That's not intimidating at all."

"Oh, come on, Charlie," Allison whined. "You don't have to be like that. Kate likes you."

"And your dad detests me with the fire of a thousand suns," Charlie reminded her.

"No he doesn't," Allison insisted. Charlie quirked a single eyebrow, an action which apparently was communicated across the airwaves because Allison let out a sigh of defeat. "Okay, he doesn't exactly like you, but if he just got to know you better maybe—"

"Nah, I know a lost cause when I see one," Charlie murmured into the receiver. "But I'll come. And I'll even enjoy it. Whenever I annoy your dad there's this vein on his forehead that starts throbbing. I want to see how huge it can get."

Allison let out a weak chuckle. "You don't plan on making the situation any easier, do you?"

Charlie let out a loud scoff. "Where would be the fun in that?"

"Bye, Charlie," Allison murmured. "I'll see you at three."

"Stay strong, brother."

Hanging up the phone and taking a deep breath, Charlie ran her hands through her hair. It had become matted and tangled with sweat. It was three days in a row that she had had that dream, and it still was as unsettling as ever. The first time she had been ripped back into consciousness like that it had been the early morning, right as the sun was just about to peek over the horizon turning the sky into a washed out grey and her ears were met by the soft snores of Mel who had insisted on curling up in bed next to her for the night. The next time it had been the middle of the night, and she had found herself alone in the dark. It didn't help that the light on the smoke detector on the other side of the room was blinking red. This time at least the dream had had the courtesy to wait till 8:34 in the morning.

Charlie threw back the sweat-soaked covers of her bed and clambered out, padding down the hall to the bathroom and wishing that she was where she should be—sitting in Mr. Hobson's English class. Under normal circumstances, she would have jumped at the opportunity to skip a few days of school, whether it be because she had a bad case or the flu or there was some spectacular plumbing malfunction n the boy's locker room. But at this point she would trade the entirety of her summer vacation to erase that night. She was getting really tired of watching people die and not being able to do a damn thing about it. So, like she did every morning, she turned the water on so that it was scalding hot and then stepped under the stream, washing away all that she could.

There was a definite shift in the atmosphere in Charlie's house. Mel had had a small breakdown after Charlie had gotten home from school the first time. There was crying and frantic yelling asking Charlie what had happened before the woman had turned on the cops themselves. Hell, Charlie was fairly certain that Mel had scared the crap out of some deputies when she rounded on them. Generally the woman was kind, calm, and collected, but the moment someone she cares about was put in a precarious position, she turned into an attack dog. Then, all of the sudden, the next day she smiling like a contestant in a beauty pageant. But the smile was tight, like a rubber band that had been stretched just a little too far. And it got tighter even every time Charlie approached the front door. Then there was that inevitable 'where are you going?' or 'what are you doing?' or 'when will you be back?' that came every time she put her hand on the doorknob.

Everybody seemed to have a different reaction to the events of that night. Mostly Charlie seemed to be working through her own with the help of her douchey subconscious. Her waking hours were all her own—she was solid, she could keep it all out of her mind—but when she slept and that wall went down, all bets were off. Lydia's coping mechanism seemed to be to engage in all of the activities she would under normal circumstances, but at a strangely accelerated rate. Basically it involved some high-intensity sessions of retail therapy and multiple viewings of 'The Notebook'. Charlie would have forgone the second part of that adventure, but seeing as her car was still technically part of an active investigation and had been temporarily seized by the police, she didn't have a lot of options about what to do. Charlie hadn't seen Allison at all. There had been a couple of phone calls—enough for her to tearfully share the fact that she had broken up with Scott. It had been a few short calls, but sometimes you just really don't want to talk, and Charlie had recognized that sound in Allison's voice. Maybe she would find out more that afternoon.

And then there was Stiles and Scott. Other than a call from Stiles checking in on them the morning after it had all happened, she didn't have any news on them either. But her mind kept drifting back to that pair. They were the only ones that she could really talk to about what had happened. Scratch that, Stiles was the only one she could really talk to. Any attempt at communication with Scott would feel like she was overstepping her bounds, especially after everything that had happened with Allison. But Stiles had enough on his plate, satisfying his dad and dealing with what was no doubt a broken-hearted Scott. She wasn't about to put her state of mind on the massive list of things he had to deal with.

Charlie stepped out of the shower and dried herself off before heading back to her room and pulling on some clothes. Lydia would be ashamed. She didn't bother with any makeup and she didn't even brush her hair before pulling it back into a damp pony tail. Finally she pulled on a baggy pair of pants, tank top, flannel shirt, and pair of Converse before shoving her phone in her pocket and walking down the stairs. She rounded the corner into the kitchen, but what she saw in there made her stumble backwards, hiding behind the nearest corner. She leaned forwards slightly to peek for a second time.

Breakfast foods were everywhere. There were stacks of misshapen, slightly burnt pancakes, scones and muffins from the bakery on Elm St., bacon, bowls of fresh fruit. It was like the entire continental breakfast buffet at a fancy restaurant had been singed and then magically transported into her kitchen. This was bad. Mel was going into a full-on nesting phase, she was making fresh-squeezed orange juice and _humming_. Hell, she had even tried to cook, and no good could come of that.

"Hey, Mel," she drawled out suspiciously as she finally turned the corner. "What's going on?"

Mel looked up suddenly from her position at the counter where she was holding another bowl of God-knows-what and stirring vigorously and once her eyes met Charlie's, she smiled brightly. "Charlie!" she said with an unnatural degree of excitement. "I'm so glad you're up! I made breakfast!"

"I can see that," Charlie said slowly and carefully. "It looks like you've made many breakfasts. First breakfast, second breakfast, elevenzies….I really think you might be overdoing it here. Unless you have a herd of guests that are about to run through the gates at any second."

Mel pursed her lips and looked over the spread. "Maybe I did go a little overboard."

"You think?"

"I just think we should be spending a little bit more time together," Mel said earnestly, gesturing at her to sit. Charlie eyed her slightly warily, but pulled one of the stools up to the kitchen island and took a seat. The moment she did, Mel placed a plate in front of her and began loading it up with food. "With everything that's happened, I thought we might spend the day together. Movies, facials, that sort of thing. We won't even have to get out of our pajamas. Girls day in, you know?"

Charlie bit down on her lip and looked at her aunt in concern before taking a big bite out of a close-by croissant. "Mel, we did that yesterday."

"And we can do it again today," her aunt replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Is it a crime for me to want to spend time with you?"

"You mean keep an eye on me," Charlie suggested tentatively. Mel twitched slightly, but otherwise gave no indication that she heard the girl. This was what Charlie had feared would happen. Her proximity to danger had kicked Mel's protectiveness into overdrive. And when Mel got overprotective, she tried to avoid the possibility of further danger by carefully regulating everything. "Mel, this'll be the third day in a row you don't go into the shop. That's not sustainable."

"You let me worry about what's sustainable," Mel replied tersely. "That's my problem, not yours."

"Mel, I'm okay," Charlie said insistently.

Mel dropped her serving spoon on the counter with a loud clattering noise and stared Charlie down. "Is that why you keep waking up in the middle of the night panting like you've just finished a marathon?"

Charlie opened her mouth to retort, but she didn't have a counter point to make there. She had been having nightmares. She had been waking up with a residual feeling of terror. But she didn't intend for that to keep happening. Charlie sighed heavily and pulled at the end of her ponytail before looking back up at Mel.

"I'm not going to lie," she murmured, looking pointedly at her aunt. "It was pretty bad in that school. And I was scared and a small part of me thought that I might die." Mel exhaled sharply and looked away at the mention of the word 'die', but Charlie pressed on. "But I'm not going to start living in some ivory tower, afraid to go outside because the Big Bad Wolf might be lurking around the corner. That's not me."

Mel stared at her for a moment, looking like she was about to protest, but instead her shoulders sagged slightly, dropping out of that perfect posture. "I know," Mel said, nodding in agreement. "It's not me either…but Charlie, it's my job to protect you now. And I don't know how to do that if I don't know what I need to protect you from."

Charlie blew out a long breath and shrugged her shoulders. "There's no way you can take everything into account."

"I know," Mel sighed out, running her hands down her face. "I'll be going into work tomorrow. And Sheriff Stilinski called. Your car is being released from impound today around noon. The forensics guys are done with it—they didn't find anything."

Charlie wrinkled her nose. "Beacon Hills has an impound lot?"

"It's the parking lot behind the precinct and a couple of rolls of crime scene tape," Mel said waving her hand dismissively. "I'll drop you off there later today." She moved the coffee maker and poured a steaming mug of black coffee, placing it in front of Charlie before raising her own. "Here's to letting go."

Charlie let out a snort and raised her own mug, clinking it against Mel's before raising it to her lips and taking a long sip. "I'm going to Allison's later. She invited me over for dinner."

"Well there's somewhere I won't have to worry about you," Mel murmured into her cup. "That man has enough guns in his house to take down a small army. Nobody's even getting close to you there."

Charlie nodded and popped another piece of croissant. She glanced around the table at the wide array of foods and then looked back up at her aunt. "You know…." Charlie drawled out, leaning in conspiratorially. "There's still a few more hours before my car is released. You've put so much work into the planning of this 'girl's day in', it'd be a shame to let it all go to waste."

A small smile pulled at Mel's lips as she leaned in as well. "My pores could use a little cleansing. And those romantic comedies I rented aren't going to watch themselves."

"I'm going to get back in my pajamas."

From that point on, the morning was occupied by sheer, ridiculous girliness. Charlie changed back into her fanciest looking pajamas and one of Mel's multiple satin-y robes. They smeared some unknown green concoction on their faces and put cucumbers on their eyes while watching romcoms. Then there was a twenty minute dance party to the cheesiest boy band either of them could think of. It was a strange sort of bonding ritual that Charlie didn't fully understand, but she was going along for the ride anyway. And as little as she wanted to admit it, once they scrubbed off that disgusting, radioactive green goop with all its 'tannins', 'antioxidants', and 'fairy dust', her skin felt freaking awesome.

"Alright, so call me as soon as you get to the Argents," Mel said a few hours later as she dropped Charlie off at the police station. "I called Sheriff Stilinski and had some new tires brought in. He said that I could bring a mechanic in to replace them so you should be ready to—"

"Mel," Charlie whined loudly. "You know I could have done that myself. I practically built that car. I know her better than anybody!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Mel drawled out. "You're tough. I get it. But I had to buy new tires anyway, the guy was dropping by the station to deliver them anyway, and it was way more convenient. So just go get your car, and again, tell me when you get to the Argents. And when you're leaving. Just—just let me know where you are. Because otherwise I'll be worrying the whole time. I mean, I'll still worry anyway, but this way I'll worry less."

Charlie let out a long, low whistle. "You're hot when you're forceful."

"Get out of this car."

Laughing to herself, Charlie clambered out of the hybrid and made her way to the front desk. Unfortunately for her, it was Deputy Sean who was manning the desk and he hadn't forgotten about the events outside the video store. Apparently a belligerent teenager in her pajamas calling him 'Dudley Do-Right' and 'Officer Krupke' tends to stick in the memory. It took almost an hour for her to wade through the paperwork after he had 'misfiled' the first copy into the shredding machine whist glaring at her.

Eventually Charlie managed to wade through the swamp of bureaucracy and tear through the forest of red tape. Deputy Sean led her through the police station and out the back door that led to the 'impound'. The door swung wide open and Charlie beheld her car sitting in the middle of the parking lot, completely intact. "There it is," Deputy Sean said with a bitter sigh. "Try and make sure it doesn't end up here again."

Charlie rolled her eyes at his as he disappeared back into the station and ran towards her car, throwing herself on the hood and giving it a big hug. "I missed you so much," she whispered to the cold metal. "I promise I will never, ever leave you again."

All of the sudden there was a loud bang shortly followed by an 'ow!'. Charlie stood up straight and wheeled around in the direction of the source of the noise. She looked across the parking lot to see Stiles standing over his car with the hood up, rubbing at the back of his head. A smile crept onto her face the moment she saw him. There really weren't any people in Beacon Hills she could talk to freely. Mel, Lydia, Allison…whenever she was with them she had to watch what she said, trying not to give them any hints about what was going on. Scott she didn't know well enough to actually confide in. Jackson was sucking even more than usual. These days it felt like every single conversation she had came with an agenda, except when she was talking to Stiles. She stood up from her car and began making her way over towards him, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"Stiles?" she inquired, walking towards him. "You okay?"

Stiles let out a spluttering scoff and waved his hand dismissively. "I'm good," he said in a slightly high-pitched voice, still rubbing his head. "It's all good here. Only thing that hurts is my pride."

Charlie let out a light laugh and came to a stop in front of him. "How's it going?"

"Been better, been worse," he sighed out, patting the car. He cleared his throat and scratched at his forehead. "You?"

Charlie blew out a long breath and shrugged. "Been better, been worse," she said, leaning against the Jeep. "Mel's freaking out, but she's finally taken me off twenty four hour surveillance. It's actually about three days ahead of schedule—I was expecting to have to send out smoke signals begging for help." She turned slightly in his direction and elbowed him in the side. "How did your dad take everything at the school?"

Stiles let out a bitter snort and turned around, leaning against the Jeep so that he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her. "Well they finally found the janitor's body," Stiles sighed out. "It ended up on the lacrosse field. And Derek's officially a fugitive now, so there's that. My dad….well I think he's in a bit over his head. He knows he's missing something, but he's got no clue where to look."

"Well that's a good thing, isn't it?" Charlie murmured, studying his profile.

"Yeah," Stiles mumbled, nodding to himself. "Yeah, but—"

"The lying kind of gets on top of you doesn't it?" Charlie murmured, tapping her foot against the ground. "Each one is like a tiny betrayal and they keep adding up." The pale expression on Stiles's face made her falter slightly, a wave of guilt flooding through her. "Sorry," she murmured quietly. "I'm going to stop talking now."

"No, you're right," he said, running his hands down his face. "It sucks."

Charlie sighed and nodded in agreement. "Well, I'm going over to Allison's later tonight for dinner," she murmured. "While I'm there I can prod a bit—try and find out what they might know about Derek and the alpha. Maybe we'll find out something new."

Stiles frowned slightly and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "You really don't have to go through the risk and—"

"Ugh!" Charlie groaned, rolling her eyes. "All I've got to do is ask some innocent questions that any obnoxiously curious teenager would ask. Mr. Argent already hates me—he won't be surprised by me being annoying. How many times to I have to say it? I'm in. Risks and all."

"You seem to be making a lot of those lately," he murmured.

"No more than you," she replied honestly. The two of them fell into a slightly tense silence. Charlie wasn't going to lie—she appreciated that Stiles was worried about her. It felt nice. But between him and Mel, the whole protectiveness thing was a little bit annoying. There were so many other people with so many more problems than she had, and he was one of them. "How's Scott holding up?" she asked carefully. "With the breakup and everything?"

Stiles blew out a long breath and shook his head. "If I said fine would you believe me?"

"If I said there was a leprechaun under my sink that tells me the daily news and quotes Walt Whitman would you believe me?"

"Okay, I'm going to take that as a no and move on," he murmured to himself. "Scott's kind of a mess. He's super-moody and doesn't talk all that much. He slept through most of yesterday and…I'm probably not supposed to tell you that. Bro code and all that."

"Please," she scoffed. "I'm totally a bro. I'm covered under the bro code."

He gave her a strange look. "You don't exactly qualify."

"I'm an honorary bro at least," she protested. "And it's not like I don't know everything else already."

"You are incredibly nosy," he said through a snort.

Charlie rolled her eyes and smacked him in the chest. "I prefer the term inquisitive."

"Well there's a euphemism if I've ever heard one." He let out a heavy sigh and scratched at his forehead, glancing over in her direction. "So how's Allison."

Charlie folded her arms across her chest and shrugged. "Right now she's swimming in a sea of denial," Charlie murmured. "She's pretty much refusing to talk about it for now. I know I should be making her face it or whatever, but I have no freaking clue how to deal with girlie emotions and boy problems and all that type of crap. It's kind of my nightmare."

"You could always get her drunk," Stiles suggested, slapping her on the back jovially. "That's what I'm gonna do with Scott later tonight. I stole a bottle of my dad's bourbon and all bets are off."

Charlie let out a coughing laugh. "Wow, man," she drawled out sarcastically. "Thanks. That was super helpful. I'm trying to elicit emotional honesty and you're solution it to get her completely drunk. That's a solid plan—I can't see how it wouldn't work."

"It'll totally work!" Stiles protested. "She'll start getting tipsy and then she'll start talking more…..give it like twenty minutes and you'll be holding hands and crying. And I mean ugly crying—face all red and blotchy, snot everywhere, you know, a real cathartic emotional experience. With alcohol."

"Jesus," Charlie snorted out. "You know even less about girls than I do."

"Have you forgotten the part where you are a girl?" Stiles deadpanned. "You're supposed to be the one with the expertise with all of the feelings and understanding and hugging."

"That's sexist."

"How is that sexist?!"

"I don't know, it just is," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

"You're an idiot."

"_You're_ an idiot."

Charlie snickered to herself and shook her head. She didn't know how it managed to work out, but she and Stiles could start out talking about the most serious things, and it would always devolve into immature bickering and Star Wars references. Not that she minded. Given everything that was going on the comic relief was kind of, well, a relief. Charlie pushed herself off of the Jeep and turned around, peering into the engine. For the most part it was really well cared for. The parts were old, but clean and free of rust. The only thing out of place was the car battery whose wires were sticking out every which-way, ripped and fraying.

Finally something that made sense. Charlie could always rely on cars to make sense. Everything these days seemed to be getting so messy, but what she was looking at right now—that would always make sense. You put the parts in the right place and then everything works together and that engine revs and starts to make that sweet, sweet music. "So what's the prognosis?" she said gesturing at the engine.

Stiles sighed heavily and turned around as well, squinting into the engine. "Well the hood got ripped up pretty bad," he said, knocking his hand against the metal. "I had to order in some replacement parts for that—they're over there." He gestured to a neat pile of metal a few feet off. "The battery should be fine, but I've been having some trouble getting it hooked up."

"You want some help?" Charlie asked, waving her hand around the general area of the engine.

Stiles exhaled loudly and glanced between her and the car. "Nah, I think I've got it."

Charlie raised her eyebrows and planted her hands on her hips. "Are you sure about that?" she asked drolly. "Because I can see from here that you've switched the positive and negative feeds going to the battery and it's going to take two people to get all that crap on your car."

"Waaaaaayuhhhhhhhh," he drawled, scratching at the back of his neck, still looking between her and the car. He peered into the engine, looking at the wiring, and his shoulders slumped slightly. "Great," he murmured under his breath. "Now I don't feel emasculated at all."

Charlie snorted and shook her head before peeling off her flannel overshirt leaving her just in her tank top. Stiles gave her a strange flustered look when she removed her flannel making her roll her eyes as she moved over to her car so that she could throw it in the back seat along with her messenger bag. She found a hair tie and pulled her hair back in a loose, messy bun before moving back towards him. "It's the 21st century, Stiles. Women have the vote now, we're allowed to show out ankles outside—things are changing." She patted him on the shoulder, and turned towards the car. "Don't worry, big guy. We've got this."

"I hate you so much right now," he muttered, shaking his head at her.

"No you don't!" Charlie replied in a sing-song voice. "You love me."

"Not so much, no," Stiles sighed out, shaking his head at her.

"Yeah, you do," she sang out again. "You're in love with me."

"Have you suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury or someth—"

"You want to bear my children."

Stiles let out a loud groan and rolled his eyes. "Well that's just fantastic," he mumbled to himself. "Again with the emasculating. I'm not a freaking seahorse."

"Then be manly and pick up something heavy," Charlie shot back, waving her hand in the direction of the scraps of metal.

"So what?" he demanded with false hostility, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice. "Am I just a piece of meat to you?"

"Silence helper monkey!" Charlie shouted, snapping and pointing in his direction.

Stiles blinked at her and raised his eyebrows. "Did you just call me a helper monkey?"

The bickering didn't stop there. In fact, it may have even devolved further, but at least they were being productive while they both prattled on. The two of them were in that parking lot for what a few hours working on the car, reattaching the car battery and then fitting the car with the new hood, sweating their asses off and slowly being coated in motor oil.

Charlie was weirdly excited about working on a car again. It made her feel like she was productive, each step in the process taking her a bit further. These days she felt like she was living her life treading water, so she had to take the small victories where she could find them. Stiles wasn't a half-bad mechanic either, though he did have a tendency to get frustrated and start yelling at inanimate objects like it was their fault they weren't fitting into place. It didn't help at all when she started laughing at him. But if she was being honest with herself, those couple of hours bickering and nerding out and laughing with Stiles was the first time in a while that she was able to completely relax.

Final step. The two of them moved over to the pile of metal and grabbed hold of the repaired hood and lifted it, moving it over the car. Stiles kept chanting 'careful' over and over again under his breath as they lowered it down. The piece fit perfectly into place and Stiles let out a loud, relieved sigh, like they had just managed to stop a nuclear bomb from going off. Charlie rolled her eyes slightly and moved over to the tool box Stiles had brought with him. The thing was neatly organized in a way that made absolutely no sense to her and she rooted around until she found a wrench that was the right fit before moving back to the car.

"Alright," Stiles said as she bolted the new smooth metal hood onto the car. "So if a bear and a shark had a fight, who would win?"

Charlie exhaled sharply and pushed some of the sweaty hair out of her face, bracing her hands against the hood of the car as she stared at him. "Seriously, Stiles? That's like the stupidest question in the history of the world."

"You're the one who watches all the Discovery Channel stuff!" he protested, waving his hands in her direction. "You're supposed to have the answers to questions like this!"

"Dude, do I have to spell it out for you?" she shot back with a roll of her eyes. "Sharks live in the water. Bears live on land. They're not exactly going to be in a cage match any time soon."

"Duh, I know that," Stiles drawled out, looking at her like she was an idiot. "That's why it's a hypothetical question."

Charlie let out a loud harrumph and threw her hands in the air. "I don't care if it's hypothetical—it's completely ridiculous question. There are way too many variables to take into account. I mean, if they're on land the bear would kick ass—all the shark can do is flop around. In the water, though…..like I said ridiculous question. Unanswerable. Now get in the car and see if it works."

Stiles mumbled something that sounded to her like 'buzzkill', but did as she said and climbed into the driver's seat pulling out his keys. There were a few moments of him stroking the steering wheel in a way that might be deemed inappropriate and whispering the car either like he was praying or he was trying to seduce the thing. Charlie cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted over to him. "Buy her some dinner first why don't you?"

As her words reached his ears, Stiles frowned and glowered at her through the windshield. He reached over and grappled with the lever, wrenching it around violently as the window slowly squeaked down. Stiles practically stood in his seat and stuck not only his head, but pretty much his entire torso out the window. "Hey," he growled, pointing at her. "This is between a man and his car! That is a sacred relationship and it has to be respected!"

Charlie threw her hands in the air in submission. "Objectophilia. That's all I'm saying."

Stiles's mouth dropped open and he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "I don't know what that means, so I'm just going to go ahead and assume it's an insult."

"Stiles," Charlie replied in a carefully moderated tone. "Shut up and start the damn car."

Stiles sank back down in his seat, mimicking bickering to himself. He pulled his keys back out of his pocket and kissed them before shoving in the ignition and twisting. It took a few seconds, but soon enough the engine roared to life. His face split into a wide smile and he let out a loud whoop before throwing himself out of the car. "Yeah!" he shouted, pumping a fist in the air and jumping up and down a bit. Charlie snorted and shook her head, a small smile covering her face. The boy really was an idiot.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Charlie called out, lifting her hand in the air for a high-five. The high-five was promptly received, and then she was immediately engulfed in a gigantic attack hug. Stiles threw his arms around her, pinning her arms to the side and lifting her off the ground slightly.

"I take it all back!" Stiles said eagerly. "You are the best ever!"

"I do what I can," Charlie managed to force out, despite the fact that all the air had been forced out of her lungs. "And while I appreciate the appreciation, can you stop suffocating me now?"

"Right." Stiles lowered her and she felt her toes touch the ground, and the two of them found themselves standing very close together. And for some reason Charlie was highly aware of that fact. The two of them stood there far a second before Charlie cleared her throat awkwardly and took a step backwards. Stiles let out a strange laugh and did the same. "Yeah, well thanks for the help," he said gesturing at the car. "It would've probably taken me about three times as long on my own."

"No problem," Charlie said waving her hand dismissively. "I had some time to spare and this wasn't a terrible way to spend it."

Stiles rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. "Well thanks for the ringing endorsement."

"Hey, I just fixed your car," she replied, punching him in the shoulder. "Don't get snippy over obvious sarcasm."

Stiles shifted on his feet and planted his hands on his hips, letting out a loud scoff. "Hey," he said jabbing a finger in her direction. "You did not fix my truck. _We_ fixed my truck. I played a significant role in the truck-fixing process!"

Charlie let out a loud snort and shook her head. "It's just too easy to mess with you, man." She pulled her phone and glanced at the screen to see if she had missed any calls from Mel, and her eyes fell on the clock. It read 2:52 p.m. "Oh, shit!" she swore, shoving her phone back in her pocket. She turned on her heel and marched towards her car.

"What's wrong?" Stiles called out, jogging after her.

"I'm supposed to meet Allison at her house at 3:00," she replied over her shoulder as she wrenched open her car door and slid inside. "I am officially fifteen minutes late already. Which means that Mr. Argent might shoot me." She pulled down the mirror and took in her appearance. Her hair was a complete mess—the strands that weren't plastered to her face from the sweat were sticking out every which-way. She yanked the hair tie out, letting the hair spill down over her shoulders. She reached over, grappling with the handle to the glove compartment to grab hold of the emergency hairbrush Lydia made her keep in her car. It turns out the thing was useful after all. She yanked the thing through her hair a few times to make herself at least slightly presentable when all of the sudden Stiles appeared in the window of her car. She jumped slightly, but reached down to the lever to roll down her window.

When the window was rolled all the way down Stiles leaned forwards, resting his arms on the window sill. He pressed his lips together in a thin smile. "Hey," he said, looking at her pointedly. "Thank you. Seriously. And be careful while you're at the Argents. Don't be all blunt like you usually are, especially if you're trying to get information out of them. They shoot people."

After he finished talking, Charlie couldn't help but smirk up at him. "Stilinski, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were worried about me." Stiles wrinkled his nose and bobbed his head in reluctant agreement, which only made Charlie's smirk widen. "I'll be fine, Stiles. I mean sure the Argents are reasonably terrifying, but I'm not going to stand on the dinner table and yell 'I am a werewolf sympathizer' at the top of my lungs. And if you're really worried, then you can just call and check in later. Like somebody's overly nosy parent."

"Okay," Stiles said, standing straight. "Okay, I might just do that."

Charlie grappled in the back seat for her messenger bag and grabbed her keys. She shoved them in the ignition and turned the car on, and immediately 'Gimme Shelter' by The Rolling Stones started blasting out of the stereo. "I'll see you later, Stiles," she said, smiling widely. She revved the engine a few times, making him roll his eyes dramatically for the hundredth time that day. She was pretty sure he muttered the word 'show off' under his breath as she pulled out of the parking lot.

Charlie pressed her foot down on the accelerator with more force that the speed limits kindly suggested as she hurtled down the road towards Allison's house. It was strange, though. Normally she was excited to spend time with Allison, regardless of how distinctly creepy her family was. But today, she was almost reluctant. Fixing that Jeep with Stiles was the most fun she had had in a while and it would definitely be more fun than dinner with Mr. Argent while he stared at her like she was a slug that he wanted to pour salt over. But that didn't really matter. Because she was headed there anyway.

The Argents made her nervous. There was no other way to put it. Objectively she knew that none of them would hurt her because none of them had any reason to, but there was something inherently terrifying about that family, with Allison as the exception of course. It was something in their eyes—an intensity that was bordering on the 'crazy'. And if she thought about it, Kate was the one that scared her the most. If she could take Kate's personality at face value then the two of them would probably have been very good friends, but now that she had all the facts in, Kate's endearing snarkiness actually became a source of worry. She had that same intelligent ruthlessness that seemed to characterize all of the Argents, but she combined it with a devil-may-care and flippant attitude which, in Charlie's opinion, could be potentially dangerous. There was an aggressiveness and….explosiveness to her that she just couldn't trust.

When Charlie pulled into the parking spot in front of the Argents, she was still sweating. And it had nothing to do with the hours that she spent outside in the heat with Stiles. "Shit," she murmured to herself. "This is not going to end well."

Honestly, even the house itself was kind of scary. It was looming and intimidating, with columns out front and way more rooms than was necessary for four people. She and Mel weren't exactly cramped in their half of that duplex—they had two bedrooms a kitchen/dining area, a living room, an office, and that front foyer area—it was more that anything she and her dad had ever had, but it was still a far cry from the Argents' house. For some reason she felt like there was a secret room hidden in that house where they had a cache of weapons bigger than the one they were hiding in the garage, or possibly some sort of supernatural prison they were hiding in the basement. Shit. That probably wasn't even one of her paranoid delusions that seemed to be popping up lately. They might actually have one of those. If they cut werewolves in half, that really wasn't much of a stretch.

Charlie turned off the engine. It was 3:18 p.m. She was almost twenty minutes late, but she sat in the car for a moment anyway. Okay. This was ridiculous. The last time she had actually been in Allison's house, all of what was going on in Beacon Hills was still a faint suspicion in the corner of her mind, and now both she and the Argents were in the thick of it. It was a good thing she was a good liar, because otherwise she would have been epically screwed.

Clambering out of her car, Charlie walked towards the Argents' front door with as much conviction as she could muster. She knocked loudly on the door three times and waited. It was a few moments before someone approached the door and when it opened, it wasn't who Charlie expected. The door swung open to reveal dirty blonde hair, sarcastic brown eyes, and suspiciously raised eyebrows.

"Well, hello," Kate smirked widely.

Charlie began to take a step forwards to enter the house, but Kate didn't move at all, instead opting to block the door. Charlie's eyebrows pulled together in a perplexed frown as the woman stared at her. She stopped, raising her eyebrows expectantly. "Um, hi?"

Kate's smile pulled even further across her face and she leaned against the doorframe, folding her arms over her chest. "So it looks like I was right about you, huh?"

Charlie shot her a perplexed look and readjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"Allison told me about what went down at the school," Kate elaborated. "It turns out you can kick a little ass."

"There was no ass-kicking," Charlie replied shortly. "It was mostly running and hiding."

"And flame-thrower-making," Kate reminded her. "Man I wish I had been there. Sounded like a lot of fun."

All of the sudden the door opened wider to reveal Allison, who was looking at Kate with a thoroughly un-amused expression. "Seriously, Kate?" Allison groaned loudly. "Stop being weird."

Kate wrapped an arm around her niece and pulled her in close to her. "Aw, sweetie," she murmured, looking down at the girl. "I'm never going to stop embarrassing you. Don't you know? That's what family's for."

Allison exhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of her nose before turning to Charlie and stepping aside so that she could make her way into the house. "Hey, Charlie," she said in a tired-sounding voice. "How's it going?"

"Life's a bag of sunshine and rainbows," she said with an incandescent smile. Allison snorted lightly and stepped out of the door, allowing Charlie in. The three of them made their way into the living room where Kate sprawled across one of the armchairs, watching them with that same curious expression she always seemed to have. She turned to Allison, who was standing there gnawing on her fingers like she was slightly nervous. "How are you doing?" Charlie asked, nudging Allison in the side with her elbow.

Allison furrowed her eyebrows slightly and then noticed that she was chewing at her fingernails. She cleared her throat slightly and self-consciously pulled her hand away from her face, balling it up into a fist. Smiling weakly, she shrugged her shoulders. "Cabin fever."

"Chris has been a bit of a tight-ass the past few days," Kate drawled out from her position on the arm chair. Instead of chewing on her fingernails, she was idly inspecting them in the dim lamplight and when she caught Charlie looking at her, she smirked widely.

Allison exhaled sharply, but nodded slightly in agreement. "It's kind of like he's channeling the warden from 'Shawhank Redemption'."

"Huh," Charlie frowned. "Well at least it'll take you less than twenty years to tunnel out of this joint." Charlie peered around, taking in her surroundings. She wasn't sure why, but every single time she came over to Allison's, she felt like she needed to look for clues. The one thing that always caught her attention was a bookshelf filled with ancient leather-bound books. Her fingers were itching at grab hold of one of those and run away. And just as she was thinking that, Mr. Argent turned the corner with that tight, slightly threatening smile on his face. He had a rag in his hands and wiping at them to clean something off. She wasn't sure why, but that simple action seemed menacing to Charlie, but these days she was prone to suspicion.

When Mr. Argent's eyes fell on Charlie a look of confusion crossed his face. He came to a stop and swung the hand towel over his shoulder before folding his arms across his chest. "Hello, Charlie," he said in a calculating sounding tone. "What are you doing here?"

Charlie opened and closed her mouth a few times and glanced over at Allison and Kate questioningly. Allison looked equal parts defiant and guilty while Kate was just grinning and enjoying the ride. Letting out an awkward laugh, Charlie turned back to face those freakishly blue eyes. "Hey, Mr. Argent," Charlie forced out with an awkward wave. "I was—uh, I was just…."

"I invited her," Allison blurted out, stepping forwards in a half-hearted confession. "She's going to teach me some self-defense stuff."

Mr. Argent wrinkled his nose slightly and shook his head. "Allison, I don't—"

"Dad," Allison insisted in an oddly dangerous-sounding voice. "You've been pretty much keeping me here since it happened. The least you can do is let me have some friends over."

A small wince appeared on Mr. Argent and he turned to face Charlie. "Hello, Charlie," he said carefully. "It's good to see you. How are you?"

Charlie tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace and she shot him a thumbs up. "Super uncomfortable, sir. Thanks for asking."

Mr. Argent sighed in frustration and scratched absently at his forehead. He looked over at Allison whose spine suddenly straightened under the scrutiny. "I just don't know why you didn't tell me in the first place," he said, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Because you would have said no."

An awkward silence took up reign and suddenly that spacious living room, what with its open fireplace and wall of windows suddenly felt very, very cramped. Charlie was once again left with the feeling that she was intruding on an intimate moment. She was doing a lot of that lately. How exactly was it that she always ended up so fully ingrained in other people's personal problems? This had never happened in any of the other towns she lived in over the years. In that moment Charlie kind of wished she was Kate, because instead of shifting uncomfortably on her feet, she would have been rolling her eyes and laughing to herself. Kate claimed all of their attention as she sighed heavily and got to her feet.

"Oh, come on, Chris," she drawled out She moved over to Charlie and casually draped her arm over the girl's shoulder. "They're teenagers. They need each other to survive, otherwise they wither away and die. Look at Allison's face. She's way too pretty to wither."

For a second Charlie thought that Mr. Argent was going to protest, but he backed off. It reminded her of something her dad used to say—that there was nothing more intimidating in life than being faced down by a group of confident, determined women. Charlie wasn't feeling particularly confident or determined, so hopefully Kate and Allison were picking up the slack. "Okay, then," he murmured to himself. "I'll just tell Victoria to set another place at dinner."

He slowly walked out of the room, and as soon as he disappeared around the corner, and as soon as he did, Kate pulled Allison towards her, draping an arm over her shoulder as well. "So what's this I'm hearing about self-defense? Because whatever it is you've gotta know I'm totally in."

A few moments later Charlie, Allison, and Kate found themselves in the Argents' backyard. Even there among the sweet-smelling flowers and chirping birds, Charlie found herself intimidated. The garden was perfectly maintained and it was beautiful, but there was a sort of geometric rigidity to the landscaping that made it feel forced. Damn. These people had serious control issues if they even tried to regulate nature. It was so carefully looked after that Charlie almost felt guilty walking on the grass as the blades crunched under her feet. Charlie and Allison moved into an open space about the size of a small room while Kate went to the patio to grab one of the lawn chairs before setting it up in the position with the best vantage point. Charlie was actually surprised that she didn't grab popcorn and a soda for the event.

Allison moved to the center of the clearing, drumming her fingers against her leg nervously. Charlie frowned and took a step towards her. "Allison, are you sure you're up for this?"

"Yes," Allison answered immediately, nodding her head frantically. "Charlie that night...I've never been more scared in my entire life. I had no idea what to do. I don't know how or why, but you did. So if I can know some of what you know, maybe if something like this happens again, I can be prepared."

A veritable tsunami of guilt crashed into Charlie. Allison was impressed by her, and she had absolutely no reason to be. In fact, if Allison had all of the facts in, she would probably hate Charlie and Charlie wouldn't blame her for it. Charlie wasn't used to lying. She was a teenager, so of course she lied from time to time, but never of the scale of this grand deception.

"Hey!" Kate's snarky voice interrupted from the corner. "I was promised a girlfight!"

Charlie let out a light laugh and nodded in her direction. "Fine. Your creepiness will be indulged."

Kate smiled and clapped her hands together eagerly. "Now that's what I'm talking about!"

"Alright," Charlie murmured, turning back to Allison. Allison cleared her throat and jumped up and down in place, shaking out her limbs and preparing herself for the lesson. "First of all you have to get rid of the TV notion of fighting," Charlie continued, stepping nearer to Allison. "All of those crazy flourishes and unnecessary acrobatics—they're just waste of time and energy. The key to Krav Maga is simplicity. You use the least amount of energy possible to take down your opponent. It's all about knowing where to hit."

Charlie stepped forwards to the center of the clearing, causing Allison to shuffle aside. She demonstrated how to make a proper fist, not holding the thumb inside the four other fingers. Unless, of course, she wanted her thumb broken. Then she moved on to the right stances and all the human weak spots to look out for, how to block strikes and make them. All of the theoretical knowledge came back to her easily as she explained that small collection of move that could be the most effective with the least amount of training. But as she made those movements, she knew she was out of practice. Her muscles were tight and she lacked the range of motion she used to have. She was slower.

While she was going through the motions, Allison stood next to Charlie, mirroring the poses and standing in place while Charlie loomed over her and rearranged her limbs into the right formation. Allison listened diligently, looking at Charlie with wide, serious eyes and nodding in understanding. They were out there for hours, the sun slowly sinking below as they practiced. Kate insisted on staying with them a the entire time, watching their progress and throwing out snarky comments, and every once and a while Charlie would glance over at the house, and more than once she saw Mr. and Mrs. Argent standing at the window, staring at them as they worked.

"So what happens when the person you're up against is huge?" Allison asked suddenly. "I mean, how to you hold your own against something like that?"

"Don't you know?" Kate called out from her chair. "You're supposed to use their weight against them."

"Not exactly," Charlie corrected. "The point of this is to exact the maximum possible damage with the least amount of effort. It doesn't necessarily take heft and strength, it takes speed and agility. Even the biggest guy can be taken down if you punch him in the trachea."

"Okay," Allison said, nodding again. "Okay, I get that." She began to practice some of the stances, striking at thin air. From what Charlie could see, she was already pretty advanced. Not in that she had previous training, but in that she already seemed to possess the natural skillset necessary for this kind of thing. What was it she had said after that back flip out her bedroom window? Eight years gymnastics. Yup. The Argents definitely had a long-term plan for her.

All of the sudden Kate cleared her throat loudly, making the two of them turn around to face her. She climbed out of the chair and planted her hands on her hips, moving towards the center of the clearing with her eyebrows raised expectantly. "Well, Charlie, this has all been very interesting," she said in a voice that didn't sound interested at all. "But if I wanted to listen to lectures I would go back to college. Or spend more time with Chris. The sun's almost down now and I think it's time for a demonstration."

Allison paled visibly at the suggestion and shook her head, sending her long brown curls flying over the place. "There's no way I'm ready for that. I've only been at this a few hours, I can't—"

"Oh, dear, sweet Allison," Kate murmured. She reached out a hand and stroked Allison's hair patronizingly. "Who says I was talking about you? I seem to remember Charlie lamenting a lack of a sparring partner." She smirked at Charlie. "What do you say, Oswin? You up for it? How's about we let Allison of those moves of yours in action?"

Charlie stared at Kate carefully. She was being called out, and as usual she couldn't help but wonder if there was an agenda behind it.

"Kate, you can't seriously be asking one of my friends to fight you," Allison said in a tone of disbelief.

"Hey, I wasn't the first one to bring it up," Kate insisted.

Allison opened her mouth to protest further, but Charlie cut her off. "Okay, I'll do it," she said, pursing her lips in consideration. "No rings."

"And no hitting the face," Kate said pointing to her own face. "This is the moneymaker."

"Are you guys actually serious right now?" Allison cried out in frustration.

"Oh, come on, Allison," Kate drawled out. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

The pair of them began to circle each other in the center of the clearing and Allison moved to the side, still visibly confused and slightly alarmed by what was happening. Still, though, she sat down on Kate's chair, resting her elbows on her knees and holding her head in her hands to watch the fallout.

She wasn't going to strike first. Charlie never struck first. And it wasn't because she was afraid to. It was because those few seconds before the fight were generally the most important. They allowed her to study her opponent, to measure them up and find their strengths and weaknesses. It was by taking into account those strengths and exploiting those weaknesses that you won. When Kate made her first move after only a few moments, Charlie learned something about her. She was impulsive. And impulsive people were generally short-sighted.

Kate's fist flew forwards, aiming for Charlie's right shoulder, but Charlie leaned to the side, dodging it easily. Kate lurched forwards slightly, but soon righted herself, looking Charlie up and down quickly to judge her next plan of attack. That led Charlie to her second conclusion. Kate always looked directly where she hit. Not so good in nuanced combat, and while that might not stop Charlie from getting her ass handed to her, it did allow for her to respond quickly and wait for a mistake.

Apparently Kate had formed her strategy as well and it had nothing to do with nuanced fighting, because what happened next was an onslaught of attacks. Kicks, punches, throws of the elbow—they were all thrown at Charlie, putting her on the defensive. Charlie blocked and parried the majority of those hits, but in the end it only ever takes one. Kat thrust her palm forwards and it struck Charlie in the middle of the chest, making Charlie stumble back a few feet. Taking advantage of the imbalance, Kate darted forwards and grabbed Charlie's arm, teisting it behind her back and wrapping her other arm around Charlie's front, holding her in place.

A small victorious laugh burbled out of Kate's throat as Charlie stood still. She assumed that she had won, and in that shortsightedness she had forgotten to think about securing Charlie's legs. Slowly, Charlie shifted her le, bringing it around so that her foot was hooked around Kate's. Quickly, she yanked her foot forward and forced her elbow back into Kate's abdomen. Between the loss of balance and loss of breath, Kate tumbled backwards bringing Charlie crashing on top of her and allowing Charlie to wrench herself free.

Both Kate and Charlie managed to scramble back to her feet. This time when Kate moved in for a hit, Charlie dodged to the side and seized Kate's arm, twisting it behind the woman's back much like Kate had done to her. Only she braced her other hand on Kate's shoulder and lifted a leg, slamming her foot down so it connected to the knee joint, forcing Kate down to her knees. As soon as Kate was down, Charlie took her hand off her shoulder and wrapped her arm around Kate's neck so that her elbow was under Kate's chin.

"Okay," Charlie forced out through panting breaths. "So at this point I would cinch in my arm so that the pressure on the carotid artery would cut off blood flow to your brain and you would pass out in about a minute." She released Kate and took a few steps back before holding out a hand. Kate stared at her hand for a moment, gulping down large breaths, and then busted out laughing. She grabbed hold of Charlie's hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet before brushing off her clothes.

"Damn, Charlotte," Kate smirked. "You've got some moves."

Charlie shrugged. "I've got a few."

"You see that," Kate said, pointing at her, "that is why I prefer tasers. Just as effective and you get to skip all of the sweating. Success from a distance."

"Oh my God," Allison muttered, drawing their attention. She was sitting on the chair Kate had dragged over and gaping at them, holding her head in her hands. She threw herself to her feet and folded her arms across her chest. "You guys are insane. Seriously. You're both insane."

"Sweetie, you're the one who wanted to learn self-defense," Kate replied. "One of these days, that'll be you rolling around on the ground. If you want to get anywhere in life, you have to get your hands a little dirty."

There wasn't much else they could get that day. The sun was quickly sinking below the line of the trees, leaving it dark outside. It wasn't long before Mrs. Argent stuck her head out of the window and called them in for dinner. Charlie hadn't thought it possible, but this dinner might almost have been more awkward than the last one. Maybe it was because this time she actually knew everything that was going on, so every sentence was carefully orchestrated. The Argents asked her questions, and her statements were as vague as she could make them while still giving the impression that she was supplying information The only thing she could say to them honestly was that she liked the brussel sprouts.

Actually she couldn't. That was a lie too.

Ultimately Charlie didn't find out anything about Derek. The Argents danced around the topic of what happened at the school. Every time they addressed what might have happened, they always routed potential speculation through references to police. Charlie had to give them one thing—they were careful. And thorough.

After 'Worst Dinner Ever: Redux', Allison and Charlie retired to Allison's room and watched cheesy movies on her laptop. Allison still didn't seem to talk all that much. Mostly she seemed to not want to think about Scott. Or anything else for that matter, because by some glorious miracle she had managed to get Allison to watch 'Starship Troopers'. The two of them were lying on her bed, propped up on pillows leaning against the wall and under that deep purple covers, watching the screen of her laptop where it sat at the foot of her bed. Based on the expression on her face, it was distracting, but whether or not it was a good type of distracting was definitely up in the air.

"Okay," Allison said, pointing a finger at the laptop. "So why can Neil Patrick Harris talk to ferrets?"

"Because he's psychic," Charlie explained.

"Since when are people psychic?" she asked, her voice thick with confusion. "I mean, how is that a thing?"

"It's science fiction," Charlie insisted. "Suspension of disbelief is necessary to enjoy it."

"Okay, I get that," Allison returned. "But I still don't get why someone's who's psychic would even _want_ to communicate with ferrets? I mean, what would a ferret even have to say?'

"Allison, that is so not an issue here!" Charlie replied. "This is about an epic war where the humans are the underdogs, struggling for the survival of their race! The ferrets don't really matter in the grand scheme of things!"

Allison's eyes widened and she threw her hands in the air in submission. "Alright, alright! Man, you get so defensive about the scifi stuff."

They watched in silence for a while, but Charlie could still feel the tension rolling off of her in waves. About fifteen minutes later she reached forwards and hit the spacebar on the laptop, pausing the movie. "Thank you for coming—I really learned a lot," she mumbled. "And I'm sorry about my family. They can get seriously intense about stuff. Even Kate. Everything here's been…it's been really serious. My dad's always been over protective, but it's never been this bad before."

"Well, that's the thing about near-death experiences," Charlie said wisely. "Parents tend to freak out about them."

Allison snorted lightly. "Understatement of the year."

Charlie was about to start the movie again, but all of the sudden she heard the sound of 'Hungry Like The Wolf' by Duran Duran blasting from her messenger bag where it lay next to the bed. "What the hell?" she whispered to herself. She threw back the covers and swung her feet over the edge of the bed and grabbed hold of her bag. She fumbled inside for a while until she grabbed hold of her phone and pulled it out. Low and behold, Scott's name was flashing across the screen. This was weird. Scott never called her. She had had his number in her phone for weeks, but this was still the first time they would ever speak over the phone. She glanced over her shoulder at Allison and her stomach knotted slightly when she saw that Allison had seen the name on the screen. Taking a steadying breath, she hit the send button and pressed it to her ear.

"Hey," she said in a voice that sounded more like question than a greeting. "What's going on? Why are you calling me?"

"Hey, Charlie," Scott said in an oddly serious tone. The breakup was really taking a toll on him. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that the full moon was in a few days. Or was it tomorrow? She should probably learn the time tables for this sort of thing.

A short silence crackled over the phone before Scott started talking again, leaving Charlie wondering what the hell was going on. "What's up, man?" she asked in an artificially happy tone. "Has Stiles gotten you completely sloshed yet?"

"You knew about that, huh?" Scott asked with an uncomfortable sort of laugh. "Well, that plan hit a big of a snag."

"Yeah, no shit," Charlie replied. "You sound super-sober right now. Depressingly sober actually."

"_I _am," Scott said. He sounded like he had something more to say, but from the noises in the background it sounded like somebody interrupted him.

"Hey, dude, what are you doing?" Stiles's voice interrupted. "No phone calls! We're getting drunk, remember! Off the grid—Ghost Protocol!"

There was the sound of a couple of people grappling for the phone. "Stiles, get off me!" Scott growled. After a few seconds Scott managed to wrench his friend off of him and regained control of the phone. "Sorry about that."

"Oh—ho—ho, man," Charlie laughed out, unable to keep the mischievous smile off of her face. "What the hell have the two of you gotten into?"

"Yeah, Stiles is pretty far gone," Scott mumbled. "I was wondering if you could give us a ride home?"

"Um, if you're sober why can't you do it?" Charlie asked in confusion.

"Yeah, I tried that," Scott sighed out in frustration. "Check this out." He must have held his phone in the air, because suddenly his voice became muffled and far away. "Hey Stiles, give me your keys. It's time to go home."

"Dude, nobody drives the batmobile but Batman," Stiles's voice said with an oddly superior tone. "And guess who's Batman? That's right! Suck it, world. I'm totally Batman. And you're not gettin' my keys." The last sentence came out in a singsong tone that she couldn't help but laugh at.

Scott brought the phone back to his ear. "See what I mean? He won't give me his keys—I'm not sure he even knows where they are—and we really need to get home."

"Have you guys been dropping acid too?" Charlie said, shoving her fist in her mouth to force back the laughs.

"Can you please pick us up?" he pleaded. "Seriously, Charlie, you're the only other person I know with a car that might be willing to drive us."

"Wait, are you talking to Charlie?" Stiles's garbled voice echoed out from over the line. "Dude, give me the phone! Seriously, give it!" There were the sounds of people fighting over the phone again, complete with grunts and cursing, but soon enough a clear voice appeared on the other end. Well, not quite clear. It was slurring a lot. "Hey, Charlie!" Stiles's excited voice said from the other end of the line. "Wazzup!"

"Hey, Stiles, I'm good," Charlie said, nodding to herself. "Glad to hear that 'wazzup' still has some relevancy in current popular culture. I thought that particular gem had fallen by the wayside."

There was short pause on the other side of the line. "Okay, so I've got noooo idea what you just said," he slurred. "I'm sure it was all smart and fancy and deep and stuff."

"Oh, it was," Charlie said seriously. "I can assure you of that."

"Dude, you should totally come down here!" Stiles barreled on. "You could help us out! We're talking about fish."

Charlie wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Fish?"

"Girls," Stiles corrected. "And how they're in the sea? We're talking about that. And how they have strawberry blonde hair and—wait, girls don't live in the sea. What were we talking about? Girls! Like Lydia and Allison and you. That's what we were talking about."

"Right," Charlie drawled out. "That totally makes sense."

"Hey, you're a girl!" Stiles said excitedly.

"Yes, Stiles, I'm a girl," Charlie snorted. "Thank you so much for noticing. Also, you just said that like three seconds ago."

"You can give us some fem—femin—female—you can give us some lady-insights! You said you were an hon—honorary bro, right?"

"Alright, buddy," Charlie sighed out. "I'll drive over and give you some lady-insights. Now give the phone back to Scott."

She could almost hear the frown in Stiles's voice. "Why do you want to talk to Scott?" he whined loudly.

"He owes me money," Charlie said shortly.

"Ohhhhhhh," Stiles exclaimed like someone had explained all the secrets of the universe. "Yeah, don't expect to get any of that back."

"Stiles, I'll be there soon," she deadpanned. "Now give the phone back."

"Okay! Just make it fast!"

Charlie waited for a moment while the phone transferred hands again. As soon as Scott was on the line, she spoke up again. "Hey, I'll be there ASAP. Where are you?"

"Right off of Ridgecrest and Sycamore there's this campsite," he replied. "We're there."

"Alright, give me…" Charlie held up her wrist to look at her watch. "Fifteen minutes. I can get there in fifteen minutes."

"Thank you," Scott sighed into the receiver. "Seriously, thank you."

Right then Stiles's voice rang out again. "Hey, what do you think would happen if I tried to light my sneakers on fire?" And then there was a loud click as Scott hung up.

Those two were idiots. That much was for sure—they were complete, total idiots. And she meant that in the best possible way. Charlie punched the 'end' key on her phone and stowed it away in her purse before turning to Allison, a wince practically etched into her face. "I'm sorry about that."

"Was that—was that Scott?" Allison asked in a slightly shaky voice.

"Yeah," Charlie answered honestly. "I ran into Stiles earlier today and he was promoting drunkenness as a Scott-related coping mechanism. I think that backfired. They want me to play designated driver because now Stiles is drunk and apparently more….Stiles-ish than usual. Is that okay—I hope that's okay with you."

Charlie could have sworn she saw tears pooling in Allison's, but they were quickly blinked away. "No, of course it's okay," she whispered. "Just because I—I know Scott and Stiles are kind of a package deal. You and Stiles—I guess you're pretty good friends now and I'd never ask you to stop hanging out with him or choose between him and me. Or Scott and me. It's not fair." Charlie looked at her skeptically, but Allison rolled her eyes. "Seriously, go!" she insisted. "Keep the roads safe and all that."

Reluctantly Charlie stood up and grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, but she stood still, looking at Allison with concern. "Allison, how are you doing? And I mean really. You haven't talked about it at all, and I've gone along with it because it's what you wanted, but what you wanted doesn't seem to be doing you any good."

Allison grabbed hold of the covers on her bed and drew them around her like it would create a magic shield and protect her from the world. "Do you think I did the right thing?" she asked, blinking up at Charlie. "Do you think I was right breaking up with him?"

Charlie's jaw twitched at her teeth ground together. She didn't give advice, she told the truth. This time she couldn't give the whole truth, but maybe she could give a specific truth that would help them both. Charlie sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of her nose before continuing. "Like I told you before, Allison. I'll never tell you what to do—I'll just tell you what I know. Scott lied in that school—I trust your judgment enough to know that. He probably lied. I'm not sure what he lied about, but that's that. I also know that he would walk into traffic if it meant that you would be safe, and that kind of devotion is more than I've seen from pretty much anybody I've ever encountered. You can do whatever you want with that information."

"But I can't…._trust_ him," Allison forced out. "How do I even know who's walking into traffic for me?"

Charlie let out a sad sigh, and shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I that's that then."

Allison let out a groan and slid down the wall, throwing the covers over her head. "Is that really the best you can do?"

"If you want certainty, talk to Lydia," Charlie shot back. "She'll have a few choice words for you." That didn't seem to help, though. Allison just said a few muffled words that Charlie couldn't understand. Reaching out a hand, Charlie yanked the covers away to reveal an Allison whose eyes were shining with tears. She sat down on the edge of the bed and grabbed hold of Allison's hands, pulling her into the sitting position before wrapping her in a hug. "Hey, it'll be okay," she mumbled. "It'll all turn out alright in the end. And if it isn't alright, it isn't the end."

Charlie sat there for a while with Allison clung to her. For a second she felt like she was holding Allison up, like the girl couldn't support her own weight. This was why getting close to people was so freaking dangerous. Because eventually shit like this would happen, and you're left crying and wondering where it all went wrong.

Eventually Allison let go and Charlie managed to extract herself from Allison's arms. She said her goodbyes and thank yous to the Argents and made her way to the car, calling Mel to give her the rundown on the little errand she had to do before coming home. Mel wouldn't tell. She was no stranger to breakups or the need of teenagers to rebel, and Charlie needed to be honest with her about something at least.

The car flew down the wooded roads with the headlights hitting the trees, casting dark shadows behind them, like angry ghosts were hiding in the woods. Charlie rolled down the windows and cranked up the volume on the stereo, blasting music out the windows as she went. As predicted, it took twenty minutes to get to Ridgecrest and Sycamore. She kept driving a little further and saw a dirt road offshoot. She slowed the car slightly and pulled down the road. A few yards down she saw Stiles's blue Jeep. Charlie pulled up right behind it and killed the engine before climbing out the car.

"Guys?" she called out tentatively, taking a few steps forward. "Your taxi service is here."

There was a rustling in the bushes, and it was only then that Charlie was aware of just how dark it was. And then, just as quickly as that rustling sound reached her ears, it disappeared. Charlie stood perfectly still, widening her eyes to let in as much light as possible. It didn't help though. All she could see was shadows. Then she heard the rustling noise again and spun around to face it. Her eyes caught a flash of movement darting quickly away from her. Damn it, she had put herself in another busty co-ed situation again.

"Stiles?" she whispered to herself. "Scott?"

Then she heard more sounds of someone shoving their way through the brush, only this time it wasn't quiet and subtle. It was like they were running straight through the tree branches. Charlie's muscles tensed, preparing to run, but then she heard something else. "Charlie!" Stiles's sloppy voice slurred out. "Hey, Charlie!"

Stiles and Scott appeared around the corner, with Scott looking very pissed off and Stiles looking very worried and stumbling as he moved. "Hey," she called out. "You guys needed a ride?"

"Stiles finally found the keys and gave them to me," Scott growled, brushing past her. "You can just go home. I'll take care of it."

Charlie let out a disbelieving scoff as she stared at his retreating back. "Um, you're welcome," she snapped.

Scott glanced over his shoulder at her with a look that was probably meant to be apologetic, but ended up just looking pissed off, and stood by the car. Stiles on the other hand came to a stop next to her. Actually he kind of collided with her, making her grab his arm to steady him. And when he spoke, she was engulfed with a pungent cloud of breath, filled with enough alcohol to get her drunk just standing there. "Man," she whispered under her breath. "You reek of bourbon."

"Do I?" he mumbled, smelling himself. "Oh, yeah." He let out an uncomfortable laugh. "I guess I do." He tried to point over at Scott, but he couldn't exactly hold his arm straight. "Sorry about Scott. There were these dudes and this thing and then he broke stuff and got all scary. He's not very happy at the moment."

"Yeah, I can see that," Charlie murmured.

"But, hey!" Stiles said, his voice getting really excited all of the sudden. All of the sudden she was wrapped in the biggest drunken bear hug she had ever experienced and there was jolting feeling in the pit of her stomach. "You came!"

"Yeah, Stiles," she said, patting him on the back. He was squeezing her really tight and she could feel the warmth of his body seeping in through her thin flannel shirt. "I wasn't about to strand your drunk ass or Scott's pissy one in the forest in the middle of the night."

Stiles released her, but left one arm draped over her shoulder to support himself. He pulled back and looked at her curiously. "You know, you always show up," he said, poking her in the shoulder. "You, Charlotte Annabelle Oswin—"

"That's not my middle name."

"You, are one of those things….like if a riddle and an enigma had a baby, that would be what you are."

An amused smile tugged at the corner of Charlie's lips. "Okay, I have no idea what you're saying. It's time to get you home, because you are drunk off your ass and we have a chemistry test tomorrow."

"No, dude!" Stiles protested. He planted a hand on her shoulder and looked at her, his big brown eyes bring into her blue ones. "It's like…you know everything about me and Scott over there." He leaned forwards to wave at Scott, shifting his weight and almost making both of them fall over. "See you know all of it—werewolves, Lydia, lying, Star Wars. And it's like—it's like you get it, you know? And you understand it. And you're cool with it. What's up with that?"

"I don't know, Stiles," Charlie replied.

"But I—we—we don't know anything about you and what's goin' on—" he poked her in the forehead"—what's goin' on up there in that giant brain of yours. It's been bothering me a lot."

"I'm an open book."

"Pshah," he scoffed loudly. "Sure, if that book was in friggin' hieroglyphics. It's like, how come you never talk about you? Kinda like that guitar you've got up in your room. I know you can play it and you're probably awesome at it like you are at everything else—cars, bowling, scifi movie watching—but I've never heard you play it. I feel like there's all this stuff in the background and you lock it up or whatever. But I'll tell you what. That book? I'm going to translate it."

Charlie raised her eyebrows at him. "You're going to translate me?"

"H—yeah," Stiles laughed out, nodding enthusiastically. Then his face pinched into a confused frown. "Did that sound dirty? I didn't mean for that to sound dirty." Charlie suppressed an explosion of laughter while he shook his head like he was trying to reorient his thoughts. But apparently the shaking sent the thoughts flying out of his ears because his face wet blank and his head sagged. "What was I talking about?"

"I can honestly say that I have no idea."

Stiles pouted like a child who had lost a toy. "Huh." All of the sudden his head snapped up and he looked at her curiously. "Hey, if a bear and a shark had a fight, who do you think would win?"

"Alright, man," she said, half-walking half-dragging him to the Jeep. "It's time for you to go home."

Stiles hiccuped loudly and nodded. "Okay."

Scott opened the door to the Jeep and Stiles flopped inside with even less coordination than he usually had. He closed the door behind Stiles and moved to walk around to the driver's seat, but Charlie threw an arm out, blocking his passage. Scott glowered at her slightly, but when he saw her earnest expression his own softened. "Scott, are you okay?" he whispered.

"Allison broke up with me," he replied tersely. "What do you think?"

Once again Charlie was taken aback by his harshness. Scott had always been prone to weird-ass behavior, but he had also always been sweet. Now it was like she was looking at an evil twin from a bad soap opera. It had to be the full moon. This sort of aggression didn't just appear out of nowhere.

"Look, man, I know it must hurt."

"No, you don't," Scott shot back. Again, a look of regret passed over his face, silently apologizing for his aggressiveness. "Anyways, it's not going to matter."

Charlie frowned slightly. "Why not?"

"Because I'm getting her back."

And with that he climbed into the car and turned it on, pulling out of the campsite and hurtling down the road. Charlie waved after them. Stiles stuck his head out the open window to do the same, but Scott yanked him back in before he was decapitated by a low-hanging branch something. There was a sort of hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched them go. Even with all the craziness that had happened at the school, she got the feeling that they were just starting, and Scott's personality transplant wasn't making her all that much more comfortable.

Sighing heavily, Charlie climbed into her car and took off as well, heading for home. During the entire ride, her mind kept drifting back to what Stiles had drunkenly rambled at her. Most of it she could chalk up to alcohol—he rambled incoherently when he was sober so that kind of behavior while drunk really wasn't much of a surprise. But there was one thing that had broken through the filter in her brain.

The guitar. The fact that Stiles had brought up that guitar had stuck with her. Because he was right, she never played in front of people. She had taught herself, she played to herself, she composed for herself. It was something she did behind closed doors. It was something her dad had brought up with her more than once. He had always told her that that guitar was a metaphor for her life—that she would keep a little bit of herself packed away and never, ever let anybody look at it. She would respond that it was because she wanted to keep something that was undeniably and irrevocably hers and her dad would smile and shake his head. He would tell her it was because she was afraid to let people in—to let people fully get to know and understand her. It was an easy statement to brush off. Nobody ever really asked to hear her play and she never offered. The fact that Stiles had picked out that guitar and called her out on it made her think that maybe he understood her a little better than she thought.

Shit. She wasn't used to this. Generally she made sure to keep people at an arm's length, but then Stiles goes and gets drunk and pulls her into a hug? She wasn't quite sure how to deal with that. How are you supposed to keep a distance when someone keeps attack-hugging you—in the metaphorical sense, of course. And the weirdest thing was that a part of her didn't want to hold that distance anymore. That kind of freaked her out.

As Charlie pulled back into the driveway in front of her house, she pushed those thoughts out of her mind. There was enough going on without her having to deal with that emotional stuff. Between the chemistry test and the full moon, there wasn't much room in her brain for anything else.

**Please review! I'm not sure how this chapter turned out. I wanted to include more Charlie/Kate, Charlie/Mel, and of course Charlie/Stiles (Charlie's being dragged towards realizations, but she's kicking and screaming while doing so). And I really wanted the dream sequence. Anyways, REVIEW PLEASE! The muse is famished and I don't think it's moths that have been eating my clothes.**

**Oh, the bear vs. shark is a reference to the TV show Misfits, which is totally awesome.**


	23. Rabbit, Run

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to easythrowaway, LifeIsARayOfSunshine, ishiptoohard, Micaela M, TameTheGhosts, katiesgotagun, Guest 1, Jaiime95, crimson sun06, VeeWillRockYou, Skittleslover3, TheMMMG, becca1130, MessintheMirror, Night-Weaver369 (nice to see you again!), and Shes-The-Proto-Type for your lovely reviews. As usual, an insanely huge thank you to BrittWitt16. Also, thank you Undeniable Weirdness (great name). The fact that you reviewed every single chapter catching up with this story and the fullness of your reviews warms my heart!**

**Again, I'm so sorry this took so long, but this might keep happening. I WILL keep writing, consistently and with as much passion as always though, but I'm working on the planning of a film festival, and that takes an insane amount of work and crazy hours. And that's in addition to my day job, so…..yeah, I'm busy. But I'm trying my level best to keep you guys entertained! And I hope my sleep deprivation hasn't compromised the integrity of the chapter—I really do. Love you guys!**

Chapter 22 – Rabbit, Run

School was exactly the same as she had left it. Well, not exactly the same. She could see some lasting indicators of their night of wacky fun—the security guard stationed out front of the school, the tarp covering the window, the remnants of crime scene tape. But those were just small, external changes. The fundamentals were the same. And the fact that the fundamentals were the same meant one thing—gossip.

Charlie was no stranger to being talked about by the student body. Given her status as perpetual 'new girl', she was used to people being curious about her. But then they would meet her, the mystery would fade and they would get bored and move on. This time, though, she suspected the interest wouldn't be so quick to dissipate, and she wouldn't blame them for it. Six kids being chased around by a madman late at night? It sounded like the plot to a bad horror flick. At least none of them knew that she was one of the kids involved. Charlie had no interest in becoming a local D-list celebrity.

Pulling into the parking lot, Charlie began to feel a small pit in her stomach. With all those dreams she had been having, it didn't feel like the first time she had been there since it happened. At least it didn't look the same as it did in her dreams. It was amazing what daylight could do to make a place not look like a serial killer's lair. Sighing heavily, she swung the door to her car open and climbed out. She pulled her slouchy grey cardigan in tighter around her and ignored the cold air nipping at her uncovered legs—in retrospect shorts probably weren't the best idea—before marching towards the entrance to the school.

Once she reached the gates, Charlie paused at the threshold. It was like some unseen barrier was preventing her from taking that extra set. For some reason she felt like if she crossed that invisible line, the specter of that crying little girl would suddenly appear in front of her. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts. "Suck it up, Oswin," she muttered to herself. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she readjusted the strap of the bag on her shoulder and took one more step forwards.

As Charlie expected, the halls were awash with whispers. She did her best to ignore them as she wound her way through the halls to get to her locker, but that proved difficult seeing as Meredith Edwards—the biggest gossip in the entire freaking school—had a locker two over from her own and, as per usual, couldn't seem to shut up about it.

"I heard some of them saw the janitor get killed," the girl whispered frantically. "He was totally shredded. One of them had a nervous breakdown. So just look out for empty chairs, and then we'll probably find out who it is!"

Charlie, who had her head firmly shoved in her locker, couldn't help but roll her eyes. The girl was a freaking walking, talking tabloid. Suddenly she was incredibly grateful for Lydia's two hour tutorial that had allowed that cut on her face to be rendered virtually invisible. Otherwise she would have been thrown into the massive, flapping jaws of Meredith Edwards and the Perez Hilton-loving sweater monkeys that she called her friends.

After amassing all of her books, Charlie finally extracted her head from her locker and closed the door, only to have Allison's face appear on the other side of it. "Hey," Allison said with an artificial levity.

Charlie nodded in greeting and crouched down to shove her books in her bag. "Hey, yourself," she said, looking up at the other girl. "I see your dad finally let you out of solitary confinement."

Allison let out a light laugh and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, but not without a fight. He put the child locks on in the car. For a second I thought that I was going to have to break a window and jump out to make my escape."

"Yeah, well you know what they say," Charlie sighed out, getting to her feet. "Parental paranoia is directly proportional to how much they love you."

Allison wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's not a thing."

Charlie shrugged her shoulders and made a face and before slinging her bag over her shoulder. "You ready for class?" she asked, inclining her head down the hallway towards the English room. Allison opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out. Instead she snapped it shut again and bounced up and down on her feet. Charlie took in Allison's appearance and her mouth formed a silent 'o' of understanding. "Scott's in English class," she said, voicing Allison's thoughts.

"Yeah," she mumbled quietly, like she didn't want the world to hear it. "I—I still have all these feelings….I keep telling myself that I did the right thing by breaking up with him, but it's like my head and my heart are in the middle of a cage match and I just….don't think that I can see him. Or talk to him." She sighted heavily and ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head with slight anxiety. "It'll just make me more confused than I already am."

Charlie shot her a sympathetic smile. "Allison, are you asking me to switch places with you in English?"

The expression that crossed Allison's face was that of someone caught in the act. "Am I that transparent?"

"No," Charlie sighed out, flashing a superior smile. "I'm just remarkably intuitive with the cheekbones of a young Cate Blanchett."

Allison rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress the snort. "You're an idiot."

"And that's a terrible sales pitch."

The two of them made their way to the English room. As was usual given her tendency towards perpetual lateness, the classroom was already largely filled by the time the two girls got there. Charlie's and Allison's typical seats were two of the very few left over. The moment they stepped through the door, Scott's head flew up from its position where it was resting on his desk and looked at Allison with wide, entreating eyes. Charlie heard a sharp intake of breath from the girl standing next to her and placed a hand on Allison's arm, giving it a squeeze of reassurance. Allison nodded in thanks and the two of them circled around the back of the room to take their seats. Charlie slid into Allison's seat behind Scott and he spun around to face her. As soon as he saw that it was her and not Allison, the hopeful expression on his face crumpled and was replaced by something hard and slightly cruel.

"Careful, Scott," Charlie murmured. "With you looking at me like that all the time, a girl could get offended."

Scott ground his teeth, but that look of dejection didn't fade. "Sorry," he muttered in a hostile tone. To Charlie it felt like he was mimicking the emotion rather than actually feeling it—using the right words without knowing what they meant. Mostly he just seemed angry, but he kept talking anyway. Scott seemed to register her skepticism, because he leaned in with a more serious expression. "About last night, too. I haven't been feeling…right lately."

Charlie winced theatrically. "Hormones, huh? They can be a bitch."

"Do you take anything seriously?" Scott growled. "Because this might be a bunch of laughs for you, but this is my life, and in case you haven't noticed, it kind of blows right now!"

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him. "I take everything seriously, Scott," she whispered. "That's why I make the jokes. Without them we'd all just look like you do now all the freaking time." Scott ground his teeth some more and turned to face the board in front of him. Charlie knew it wasn't fair, but she couldn't help but feel a tiny pit of anger form in her stomach. She leaned forwards so she could whisper quietly enough so nobody else could here. "Look, Scott, I realize this is probably a difficult time for you, celestially speaking. But you might want to be careful with how you act. The full moon might be temporary, but people's memories are long."

Scott twisted his head around to look at her. His eyes had that hollowness to them again, and it made her shiver. "Is that a threat?"

"Of course not," Charlie murmured, shaking her head earnestly. "It's just how people work. It's also something you should be aware of. Especially today."

Scott stared at her a few moments before slowly turning around to face the front. Charlie collapsed back in her chair and sighed heavily. She felt eyes on her and glanced over to see Allison staring at her with eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Charlie just jerked her head to the side in a noncommittal response and turned away, avoiding the girl's eyes. When she did, Stiles appeared in the corner of her eye and she couldn't help but snort loudly.

Stiles was slumped forwards on his desk, he forehead resting against the desk and his arms practically wrapped around his head to block out all surroundings. As far as Charlie could tell, he wasn't breathing. Nope, instead of breathing he was letting out periodic groans. Hangovers were usually supposed to be an external manifestation of somebody's shame, but for some reason on Stiles they were oddly adorable. It almost made her want to leave him alone to his own self-inflicted misery. Almost.

Charlie took hold of one of her pens and reached in Stiles's direction, straining not to fall out of her own chair and adopting a posture she was fairly certain she had seen him use at some point in the past. She extended her arm and stuck the pen in his ear. He let out another muffled groan and went to swat at it, so she jerked her hand back. As soon as he had settled back down again, smacking his lips loudly and muttering to himself, Charlie stuck the pen back in his ear. That process was repeated a few times until frustration got the better of him and he threw himself into the sitting position and wheeling around to see what was going on, an angry scowl etched into his face. Charlie snatched back her hand and placed it on the table, staring straight in front of her and whistling idly.

"Ugh, I hate you so much," he muttered, running his hands down his face. "Seriously, you're the worst. The absolute worst."

"Hey," Charlie said, throwing her hands in the air. "I've got nothing to do with the fact that you look like a zombie. Sucking down a bottle of Jack in a crappy campground? That's totally on you."

His face scrunched up in an expression of confusion as he looked at her. "How did you know we were at the campground?"

Charlie froze for a second before her face split into a giant shit-eating grin. "Oh-ho-ho, man…." she drawled out. "I knew you were drunk, but I had no idea you were that far gone."

"Charlie, what are you talking about?"

Charlie just snorted. "Stiles," she said narrowing her eyes at him, "I want you to think really hard about what happened last night. I mean really hard. About all those little details and phone calls and drunken rambling monologues…" That look of confusion on Stiles's face stayed firmly in place for a moment before it morphed into one of realization, quickly followed by one of horror. Her grin got even wider. "And there it is," she sang out happily.

Stiles's gaped at her, opening and closing his mouth silently before he started stammering. "I—you, uh…."

"That's right, Batman," she smirked. "You got silly."

Stiles groaned and slammed his head back down on the table. "Son of a bitch." He jerked his head back off the table and opened his mouth to speak to her again, but before he could find his way back to full sentences, Mr. Hobson stepped in front of the board and began droning on about something that was written a really long time ago.

To be honest, Charlie wasn't really paying attention to the lesson. She had snuck out her chemistry notes for some last minute cramming before Mr. Harris started tap-dancing on her brain. After the week she had been having, she needed it. Especially given the fact that he always held his test for all of his classes in third period to 'minimize cheating among the sad excuse for a student body' of Beacon Hills, which meant she was a period of study time short. She opened up her book and stared intently at the words and equations that had been scratched in. Though to be honest, she really wasn't paying attention to that either.

She didn't know why, but there was a pit in her stomach and it kept growing and growing. It was like her body was telling her something bad was about to happen the same way old people know it's about to rain when their arthritis started acting up. Maybe it was just that the full moon was tonight—maybe that was it. She did have a tendency to over think things and let them rattle around in her head. She stared down at her paper and tapped the pen against the surface of it almost pathologically, and before she knew it, the bell was ringing and people were packing up their books.

Autopilot. That's how she would describe how she was going about the day. Going through the motions. She went to class, she pretended to pay attention and deluded herself into thinking she was studying, and then moved on. Second period disappeared just as quickly as first. It was as if she sat down, and the bell immediately rang, forcing her to stand up again. Students began filing out of the room like they were going to their deaths—which wasn't much of a stretch given the fact that they were headed to a chemistry test—and fell in line with them. As soon as she stepped through the door, she found her self face to face with shimmering lip gloss and carefully coiffed strawberry blonde hair.

"Holy crap!" she exclaimed, coming to an abrupt stop before walking into her.

Lydia let out a light, musical harrumph and flipped her hair over her shoulder before folding her arms across her chest. "Well," she said in a superior-sounding tone. "It's about time somebody had the correct response to me this morning."

Charlie readjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and continued to walk, the two of them moving down the hall side-by-side. "How is 'holy crap' a correct response to you?"

"It demonstrates the impact of my presence," she replied with a prim shrug of the shoulders. And then she pursed her lips like she did when she was being passive-aggressive. So I stopped by your house yesterday afternoon," she said casually. "I though maybe we could go for a mani-pedi or a movie or something. Mel said you had gone out."

Swallowing, Charlie nodded slightly. "Yeah. Yeah, I had to go pick up my car and then I went over to Allison's. She was pretty shaken up by the school thing and—" At that Lydia let out a light cough that sounded oddly like a snort. Charlie froze for a moment, her mouth hanging open, before continuing. "Anyways, she wanted me to teach her some self-defense moves."

"Well," Lydia said, giving her a withering look, "you could have called and invited me along."

Charlie raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Invited you? For self-defense training? And how would that have gone over?" Charlie cleared her throat and tossed her hair over her shoulder in her best imitation of Lydia. "Self-defense?" she demanded in a voice more high-pitched than her own. "No thank you. You two might want to go live out your little Xena Warrior Princess fantasy, but I think I'll save my efforts for a heroine with better footwear."

Lydia narrowed her eyes. "Just because you know what I'm going to say doesn't mean that I should be deprived of the opportunity to say it. And anyways, it's rude to automatically assume you know how someone's going to react to something. Maybe I want to learn how to so self-defense."

A loud snort forced its way out of Charlie's nose. "Do you want to learn self-defense?"

"Hell, no!" Lydia exclaimed. "Rolling around on the ground trying to kick the crap out of each other? It's undignified. Not to mention it would totally ruin my clothes. But I would like to be able to reject your invitations as I see fit."

Charlie chuckled and shook her head, but a feeling of uneasiness swept through her. These days Allison seemed like a bit of a sore subject for Lydia. Not that Lydia was overtly hostile or had even taken a dislike to the girl, but Charlie could see something behind her eyes. It was those little looks and moments of attention Jackson had been given to Allison, or at least it had started with that. The red-head pretended she didn't notice those long looks and touches that lasted just a little bit too long and she would probably die before voicing her suspicions, but Charlie knew those suspicions were there. Lydia felt like she was being sidelined, and Charlie and Allison hanging out without her probably wasn't helping the situation.

All of the sudden, there was the sound of heels hitting the ground behind them. Charlie and Lydia twisted around to see the girl in question jogging down the hallway to catch up with them. "Hey," she said breathlessly, slowing down and adopting their pace. "How are you guys?"

"I saw you like forty-five minutes ago," Charlie replied. "I'd say not much has changed between now and then."

"Well I, for one, am tired about hearing all these stupid theories about what happened," Lydia sighed out, idly inspecting her fingernails. "I mean seriously, it's been like three days and like sixteen hundred news cycles since it happened."

"There was a murder at the school," Allison pointed out. "That's not something people forget about all that quickly."

"Um, yeah it is," Lydia replied matter-of-factly. "Does anybody else remember the bus driver? The guy who was murdered in an incredibly gross way? Oh, right, they don't. Because everybody stopped talking about it after a week."

"Wow, Lydia," Charlie murmured, shaking her head to herself. "You're practically oozing compassion."

"Oh, don't go getting all high and mighty, Charles," Lydia shot back with a roll of her eyes. "I didn't see you have an emotional breakdown over the guy. And I don't see why these people can't just move on with their silly little lives."

"It's just weird, though, isn't it?" Allison said, her voice dropping into a whisper. "Everybody's talking about what happened the other night and nobody knows that it was us."

Lydia let out a scoff and smirked slightly. "Thank you for the protection of minors."

At that moment, Charlie glanced down a side hallway and saw something that made her stop while the other two girls continued walking and chatting idly. Stiles was sitting in front of the main office leaning against the wall and hugging his backpack to his chest, looking like he was waiting for something. Through the wall of windows behind him that opened onto the office, she saw beige uniforms. Great. The cops were here.

"Um, Charlie," Lydia's voice chirped, interrupting her reverie. Charlie looked over at Lydia and blinked in confusion, making Lydia roll her eyes. "Chemistry test? The class starts in like ten minutes. Not much time left over for the mandatory pre-class makeup check."

"Right," Charlie said, giving the two of them a thumbs up for no apparent reason. "You guys go on without me. I've got to go to something first."

Lydia opened her mouth to protest, but then Allison glanced down the hallway as well and saw Stiles. For some reason her lips twitched slightly and she linked her arm through Lydia's, dragging her away gently. "Okay, Charlie. We'll see you later."

After shooting a strange look after Allison, Charlie spun on her heel and moved over in Stiles's direction. He didn't seem to notice her approach, instead chewing on his fingernails and tapping his foot frantically while staring directly at the wall in front of him. Charlie leaned against the wall next to him and slid down it so that she was sitting next to him. He jumped slightly when she came into his peripheral vision, but relaxed visibly as soon as he saw it was her.

"Hey," she murmured, glancing curiously through the glass where his dad and one of the deputies were standing at the desk and speaking with some of the people in administration. "What's with the fuzz? What are they doing here?"

"Following up on what happened at the school," Stiles replied nervously.

His anxiety was unnerving. In general, Stiles seemed to by the barometer by which the shittiness of a situation could be measured. Most of the werewolf crap he took in stride, but when he got worried, she started getting worried. She reached out and put a hand on his arm, making the foot-tapping finally stop. "Hey," she said, looking at him pointedly. "What gives, man?"

He exhaled sharply and looked over at her. His eyes were widened slightly and there was the tiniest wrinkle between his eyebrows. It wasn't much, but it was enough to betray an intense insecurity. "My dad's on patrol tonight."

Charlie's mouth formed a silent 'o' and she nodded in understanding. "The full moon's tonight." He got that hollow look again. She decided that she hated that look. It looked unnatural, and made her a whole hell of a lot more worried than she would have been otherwise. And so she did what she always did when she was worried or uncomfortable. She made a joke. Charlie winced theatrically and shook her head at him. "Full moons, chemistry tests….really not the best time to be getting smashed is it?"

Stiles looked at her with a strange combination of anger and embarrassment. "You're never going to let me live that down are you?"

"Only time will tell," she replied with a shrug. "Did you actually end up lighting your sneakers on fire?"

He rolled his eyes and ran his hands down his face. "Remind me why I like hanging out with you again?"

Charlie pursed her lips in consideration. "Because you like getting your ass handed to you when we're playing Halo?"

"Oh my God!" Stiles drawled out, glaring at her. "I swear I'm going to kill you one of these days. And it's not going to be one of the nice ways."

"There are nice ways of killing people?" Charlie demanded. "What the hell does that mean? Do I get crushed under a pile of adorable kittens or something?"

"You know what I mean," Stiles spluttered. "It's going to be creative and painful and stuff.

"Wow. It seems like you've got it all figured out."

Stiles glared at her like he was trying to set her hair on fire with his mind. "I hate you so much."

Charlie started laughing hysterically, which probably didn't help her case all that much. Stiles opened his mouth for some sort of angry retort, but before he could there was the squeaking sound of the door opening. The two of them immediately fell silent and scrambled to their feet, grabbing their bags. Sheriff Stilinski exited the office with one of his deputies and some other guy in a suit. Charlie studied that one carefully. Cheap suit, comfortable shoes, bulge in the jacket—he was definitely a cop, but not from around Beacon Hills. After the group spoke in hushed whispers for a few moments, Sheriff Stilinski caught sight of the two of them standing there with curious concern on their faces and his shoulders slumped a bit. He whispered a few more things to the two others and moved in their direction, folding his arms over his chest in frustration. "Don't the two've you have a test to get to?"

"What's going on?" Stiles hissed, barreling over his father's rhetorical question. "Did you find Derek yet?"

"I'm working on it," the sheriff replied, looking at his son pointedly. "You go take your test."

"Alright, dad, listen to me—"

"Go!"

"This is really important!" Stiles insisted. "You _have_ to be careful tonight, okay? Especially tonight."

Sheriff glanced over at Charlie for a moment, making her scratch at the back of her neck awkwardly, before turning back to his son. She took a few steps backwards, away from the pair in an effort to remove herself at least partially from the conversation, but she didn't get quite far enough away. "Stiles I'm always careful," Sheriff Stilinski murmured in a low tone.

"Dad, you've never dealt with this kind of thing before! Okay?" Stiles continued. "At least not like this."

"I know!" Sheriff Stilinski growled. "That's why I brought in people who have." He glanced over his shoulder at the guy wearing the suit. "State detective. Go take your test." Then he turned to Charlie, who wasn't nearly as invisible as she had intended to be. "I suppose you're going to tell me to be careful tonight too."

"No, sir," Charlie replied, shaking her head. "I was just going to issue a noise complaint."

The sheriff planted his hand on his hips and raised his eyebrows at her. "A noise complaint."

Charlie nodded gravely. "Yes, sir. A noise complaint."

"And who is it you're making the noise complaint about?"

"The teachers," she said, waving her hand around absently to indicate. "They talk way too loud. I can't even get a decent nap." The sheriff just stared at her in silent exasperation for a moment before turning around and returning to the small group of policemen down the hall. Stiles watched him go, looking wholly unsatisfied with the situation, but Charlie grabbed hold of his elbow and pulled him after her. "Let's go, Stiles," she whispered to him. "We've got a chemistry test to look forward to, and I don't think Mr. Harris will wait for us."

The trip back to the classroom was completely silent. Charlie was pretty sure that was a first for her and Stiles. She was also pretty sure that she didn't like it, but that didn't mean that she didn't understand it. In a lot of ways, Sheriff Stilinski reminded her or her dad—the dry humor and straightforward attitude. Sure her dad was more of a 'kid-at-heart' type than the sheriff was, but of all the people she had met, he was the one who reminded her the most of her dad. And the prospect of losing someone like that would force her to silence too. Right before they entered the classroom, Charlie grabbed hold of Stiles's sleeve and pulled him aside.

"Hey," she whispered comfortingly. "It's all going to be okay."

Stiles let out a humorless laugh and shook his head. "Is it? People keep saying that it's going to be okay. Look at everything that's happened, Charlie. All of the crap that we've been through? Has any of it really ended up okay?"

He was right. Nothing had seemed to go there way. It was just one thing after another after another. They had yet to have a substantial win, or any win at all. She was about to point out the fact that they were still alive, but that wasn't a win either. They were alive because the alpha allowed them to be alive, because whoever it was, he wasn't done messing with them yet. "The alpha's got no reason to go after your dad."

"It's the full moon, Charlie," he replied, waving his hands in the air. "That means howling and shifting and all of that really inconvenient stereotypical behavior werewolves are so famous for. Reason doesn't have all that much to do with it."

Biting down on her lip, Charlie nodded in understanding. Again, Stiles was right. Reason didn't have a lot to do with it. None of what was happening was reasonable. "So what's Scott going to do?" she asked. "Last time he went after Allison, right? How are we going to keep him from doing that again?"

Stiles sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "His mom's got the night shift so I'm just going to chain him up in his room."

"Kinky," Charlie muttered. "What's his safe-word?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and walked around her, making his way into the classroom. "Time to take a chemistry test," he said over his shoulder. "Oh, yeah. Today is going to be f-u-n fun."

Charlie let him go without another word. He had enough to work through on his own—he didn't need her commentary piled onto all that as well. She glanced around the room. Allison was sitting in the front row doing some last minute studying and Lydia was two rows back. There was an empty seat next to Lydia clearly intended for her, so she slid into it and tried to push all the other stuff that was going on far, far out of her mind. Chemistry. That was the only thing she should be thinking about now, as difficult as that was. Avogadro's number. Molar ratios. Ions. Jesus, it was all just so boring. And frankly, she had more pressing concerns than a subject she would never, ever pursue.

"Here," Lydia chirped suddenly, shoving a compact and a tube of lip gloss into her hands.

"Um, thanks Lydia," Charlie drawled out, holding the things up to the light. "But I've got a pen and I think Harris will probably deduct points if I use lip gloss as a pen."

"Don't be an idiot, Charlie," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "Put some of that on. Your lips are so pale you kind of look like a corpse. Let's put some color on you."

"Lydia, we're taking a chemistry test, not stomping down the runway," Charlie drawled out. "I really don't give a shit."

"Hey, you're the one who bailed on pre-class makeup touch-ups," Lydia returned. "Just shut up and put it on. We have to look our best, don't we? And don't forget to color inside the lines."

Charlie sighed heavily, but flipped open the compact. There was only one way to deal with Lydia when it came to this kind of thing, and that was appeasement. Oh, well. Sometimes it was nice to be forced into less stressful priorities. She opened the tube of gloss and began spreading it out over her lips when all of the sudden the door was kicked open to reveal Mr. Harris carrying a giant stack of papers.

"Ms. Oswin, please stow your makeup," he drawled out. "Smearing some cream on your face won't make the test any easier."

Charlie snapped the compact shut and shoved the makeup in her bag before sinking lower in her seat and falling silent. She glowered at Harris as he made his way to the desk and slammed the stack of papers against the surface. It was decided. If she could light things on fire with her mind, she would definitely start with Harris.

Slowly, the rest of the students trickled in while Charlie contemplated her imminent academic death. She was forced out of her wallowing though when Scott entered the room. His eyes immediately snapped towards Allison and he approached her, his shoulders slumped in supplication. Charlie hunched forwards in her seat, part of her wishing that he would let it go and keep walking, but she knew it wasn't going to happen.

"Allison," he murmured in a plaintive voice. Allison's eyes flicked up and met his for about half a second before she went back to staring at her desk. Scott opened his mouth to continue, but before he could, Mr. Harris stepped in. Literally. He dodged forwards, sticking his face between Scott and Allison as he plopped down a stack of tests.

"Mr. McCall, please take a seat."

Charlie bit her lip and began tapping her pen against the desk again, her eyes following Scott as he dragged his feet towards the seat in front of Stiles and collapsed in the chair. Man, the guy really couldn't catch a break. Charlie wanted to ask him if he was okay, but Mr. Harris started pontificating from the front of the room.

"You have forty-five minutes to complete the test. Twenty-five percent of your grade can be earned right now simply by writing your name on the cover of the Blue Book. However, as happens every year one of you will inexplicably fail to put your name on the cover and I'll be left yet again questioning my decision to ever become a teacher."

"I question that decision every day," Charlie mumbled to herself.

"Ms. Oswin, do you have some burning insights that you want to share with the class?" Mr. Harris demanded, looking at her over his glasses. Charlie blew out a long breath and shook her head. Harris glared at her for a moment before turning back to the rest of the class. "So let's get the disappointment over with. Begin."

Harris punched the 'start' button on his stopwatch and Charlie ripped the Blue Book open. Little diagrams and equations and all the usual bullshit associated with chemistry ran along one side of the side of the page with the questions next to them. She took a deep, steadying breath. Time to switch into test-taking mode. Charlie snapped into that somewhat terrifying mindset, flying down the page and scribbling calculations in the corners with such speed she was surprised the paper didn't catch fire from friction. Combustion reaction. Boom, chemistry.

Just as Charlie flipped to the second page, there was a clatter of noise. It had to be pretty loud if it broke her out of test-taking mode. Her head snapped up from the paper to see Scott grappling with his backpack and rushing to the door, colliding with several desks and students along the way. Charlie twisted around in her seat and looked at Stiles with wide eyes. Their eyes connected for about half a second before he rushed out as well. Instinctively, Charlie threw herself to her feet, but before she could move from her desk she found herself being faced down by Harris

"Ms. Oswin," he said in that low, dangerous tone. "If you take one more step, you will be receiving a zero on this exam."

"I wrote my name down," she shot back, grinding her teeth together. "Wouldn't I be getting a twenty-five?"

Mr. Harris let out an unamused snort and planted his hands on his hips. "Extenuating circumstances, Ms. Oswin. Now sit back down."

Grumbling to herself, Charlie sank back down in her chair and did her level best to erase what had just happened. She didn't quite get back into 'test-taking mode', every so often she would find her mind being dragged elsewhere, but she did the best she could. And given her degree of academic paranoia, the best she could was pretty good. When she turned in that paper at the end of the period, she felt like she was dropping off a 100 pound sack of flour or something, and her thoughts immediately snapped back to Stiles and Scott.

Not much work got done in the period after the chemistry test. Charlie spent the entire time watching the clock and waiting for the bell to liberate her and let her figure out what the hell was going on. As soon as the damn thing rang, she jumped out of her seat and jogged towards Stiles's locker. She waited there for about ten minutes, but he was nowhere to be seen. Next she stopped by Scott's locker, but by that time he was long gone. Finally, she made her way towards the lunchroom. Stepping through those double doors, she pushed herself on her tiptoes and scanned the room, looking for one or both of the wonder twins. But she didn't see either of them. Instead she saw something that she found just as disturbing as Scott's little outburst.

Allison and Jackson. He put his tray down next to her so that they were sitting together—alone—at one of the tables. That in and of itself wasn't all that strange, but their proximity was. Jackson's tiny, charming little smile was. Charlie narrowed her eyes at them suspiciously, and then Jackson reached out and drew his finger along Allison's lip, presumably to wipe off some sauce, before licking it off his own finger. Seriously? What an obvious cliché that was. Next he was going to tell her she had an eyelash on her face. Charlie made her way through the crowds of people, coming up on the pair.

"No," she overheard Jackson say as she approached. "No, I think that Scot got exactly what he deserved."

Standing there behind the pair, Charlie cleared her throat. Allison and Jackson both twisted around to look at her. A small smile appeared on Allison's face, but Jackson's expression was far less warm. Whatever charm he had been putting on for Allison's sake disappeared from his face as soon as Charlie stepped into his plane of vision.

"Hey, Charlie!" Allison said brightly. "How did you do on the chemistry test?"

Charlie shrugged and gave a noncommittal shrug. "As well as can be expected."

"So awesome then," Allison replied with a roll of her eyes. She slid over in her seat slightly, making a bit of a gap between her and Jackson—something Jackson didn't seem all that happy about. "You wanna sit? Grab some lunch?"

"Nah," Charlie drawled out, her eyes flicking in Jackson's direction for a moment. "I'm not really hungry. Chemistry kind of kills my appetite."

"Well that doesn't mean you can't sit," Allison insisted.

"I was actually hoping to talk to Jackson," Charlie said. She folded her arms across her chest and raised her eyebrows at the boy expectantly.

"Oh," Allison chirped. The tone of surprise wasn't all that well hidden, and she looked between Charlie and Jackson with an expression of anticipation.

Jackson sighed out in exasperation and shot her something akin to a death glare. "What do you want, Chuck?"

"Come on, Jacky," she said, slapping him hard on the back. "We've got things that we need to discuss."

From the look in her face, Jackson seemed to be able to tell this was something she wasn't going to let go. Grunting loudly, he wiped his hands on a napkin and tossed it aside before getting to his feet. He looked at Charlie like he was about to murder her, but then grinned widely before turning back to Allison. "I'll be back in a bit."

Allison's eyebrows pulled together in a frown, but she still shot the both of them a smile and began rooting around in her bag, pulling out a book. "Okay. I'll see you in a bit. I've got a ton of reading to do for English anyway."

Once she and Jackson were out of hearing range of Allison, Charlie grabbed hold of his sleeve and yanked him after her, ignoring his protests until she found an empty hallway. She glanced around to make sure nobody else was around before rounding on his, folding her arms across her chest and giving him a stern look. Yet again, Jackson didn't look too happy about the situation.

"What the hell, Chuck!" he shouted angrily, shoving her back slightly. "What was that about?"

Charlie let out a loud scoff and rolled her eyes. "Don't pretend that you don't know, Jackson. You might look stupid, but even I know that you have basic reasoning skills."

"Oh, I already worked out the fact that you were a nutjob a long time ago, Oswin," he snarled. "Is that the basic reasoning you were talking about?"

Charlie didn't take the bait. She didn't bite. She had grown accustomed enough to his venomous outbursts that they didn't phase her anymore. Instead she took a single, threatening step forward and leveled him with a serious stare. "Stop fucking with my friends."

He didn't even bother to try and hide the massive shit-eating grin that spread across his face. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Like hell."

Jackson let out a derisive snort and shook his head at her with pity and condescension. "You know what, Chuck? You've been hanging out with McCall and Stilinski too much. What, you think—you think that I'm _after_ you? Like some sort of criminal mastermind?"

"I'd never go so far as to call you a mastermind," Charlie drawled out. "There's no way I'd make you sound that smart. But do I think you're out to get them? Yeah, I do."

A bitter, slightly maniacal laugh issued forth from his throat. "Come _on_, Chuck. Do you even hear yourself? What's next? Bigfoot? Little green men?"

"Cut the crap, Jackson," she growled, leaning in close. She froze for a moment while a couple of other students passed by before continuing. "Do you honestly think I can't see through your bullshit by now? You think I don't know you didn't hand Lydia the sulfuric acid? You think I don't see all those little looks you keep shooting in Allison's direction? You think I don't see the game you're playing here? Do you really think that you can just use and discard people like that with no consequences?" Through her rant, Jackson's smile began to grow wider and wider, and that just pissed off even more. "Stop fucking with my friends, Jackson, or I swear to God I'll—"

"You'll what?" Jackson said with a snort. "Threaten me some more? I've got to say, Chuck, it's really cute, but don't you have better things to do with your time?"

"Are you really so pathetically insecure that you need to try and steal your competition's life to make you feel better about your own," she hissed, looking him up and down with an expression of distaste. "It's not going to make you any better at lacrosse. Or any less of a jackass. It's not going to make you Scott."

That last bit seemed to strike a chord. The smile instantly disappeared from his face and was replaced by an angry scowl. He folded his arms across his chest and took a step towards her. "Do you really think I give a shit about the opinions of some psychotic chick with dead daddy issues?"

At the mention of her father, Charlie froze. The anger that swept through her was unlike anything she had ever experienced before in her life, raging in her veins like an uncontrollable forest fire. Her mind was spinning thinking of something to say to him, but it refused to stay still long enough for her to latch onto anything. Instead, her hand involuntarily clenched together in a tight fist. Then she swung her arm hard so that fist sailed through the air and connected with Jackson's jaw, giving rise to a sickening crack.

Jackson let out a grunt of pain and stumble back a few steps collapsing on his hands and knees. He stayed down for a few moments with his back turned to her, while Charlie stood over him taking deep, panting breaths and massaging her sore knuckles. When Jackson did finally get up and turn around, he was smiling again.

"Damn," he laughed out, rubbing at his jaw. "You've got a better right hook than Stilinski. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to lunch with Allison."

Charlie's jaw clenched as she watched him go. She shouldn't have hit him—she shouldn't have let him get in her head—but it had happened. There it was. And now her knuckles were bleeding. Great. Now she would have to wear the cardigan for the rest of the day and keep the sleeves pulled down. Charlie spent the rest of the lunch period in the bathroom, washing the blood from her hand and letting the soap sting the cuts. Before she had a chance to scarf down anything from the lunch line, the bell rang again, sending her to her next class.

The rest of the day, Charlie couldn't shake that niggling feeling of worry. She still hadn't seen Stiles or Scott since they bailed on the chemistry test, so she still had no clue what was going on. Again classes began to seem less like an education, and more like the thing that was keeping her from finding out what she actually needed to know. The fact that she hadn't gotten anything for lunch and her stomach felt like it was eating itself didn't really help either.

When the final bell rang releasing them from classes, Charlie already had a plan mapped out. First stop was a vending machine. The ones at the school were nowhere near as accommodating as Bob, but at the end of the day a Snickers bar was a Snickers bar and she would get one wherever the hell was possible. Next stop was her locker, getting all her shit together for the end of the day. And finally, she would wait down the hall from the boys' locker room waiting for the lacrosse team to get out so she could confront Stiles and Scott. The plan went pretty well, except for the fact that she got held up at her locker for like ten minutes while Meredith Edwards bombarded her with theories about what had happened at the school. By the time she got to the locker room, the team was already headed out for practice, with Stiles and Scott hanging back from the rest of the group. Charlie said a silent 'thank you' and made her way towards them, but before she could Scott broke away from Stiles and started heading down the hallway in her direction.

"Hey," she called over to him as he approached her. "How's it going? With the chemistry test and everything I—"

"Not now," he mumbled, brushing past her yet again.

Charlie let out a loud groan and threw her hands in the air in frustration. "Seriously?" she called out after him. "Seriously?"

Scott didn't turn back to face her. Instead he made a beeline towards Lydia who was standing just a little further down the hallway talking to stock pretty blonde girl character number three. She wrinkled her nose in confusion and glanced back over at Stiles who was grinning widely and bouncing up and down on his toes in anticipation. Charlie threw her arms out wide as she made her way towards Stiles, her face adopting her patented 'what the hell?' expression.

"Dude, what's going on?" she demanded, coming to a stop in front of him. Stiles didn't quite register her, though. Instead he looked straight past her over at Scott and Lydia. "Hello?" Charlie said, waving a hand in front of his face. "Earth to Stiles!"

He blinked in surprise and shook his head before looking at her. "Hm? Oh, hey Charlie!"

"What's that stupid smile about?" she said, waving a finger in his face.

"Oh, I'm just about to get some insider information that I've been waiting for since I was like eight years old!" he said excitedly.

"Yeah, I'm going to need more information than that," she shot back, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

"Apparently full moon Scott can smell desire," Stiles barreled on. "I sent him on a recon mission—gathering intel."

It took Charlie a second to register what he was saying, but as soon as she did her lip curled slightly in disgust. "Wait, you're saying Scott can smell lust? Now that's all kinds of disturbing, especially in a high school locker room with all that testosterone and misplaced emotional baggage. Tell him to stay away from Aaron Harrison."

"Why Aaron Harrison?" he asked curiously.

"Um, because he's a lecherous creep," Charlie responded. "Not only has he tried to grab my ass more times than I can count, but he's also just a general horny idiot. That guy could get sexually aroused by a freaking grapefruit."

Stiles winced heavily and stuck his tongue out in disgust. "Ugh. Ew. Why would you say that right now? Or ever?"

"Because it's true," she replied with a shrug. She sighed heavily and clapped a hand on Stiles's shoulder, looking in the direction of his line of vision. Scott and Lydia were speaking briefly and then the two of them walked off together, dodging into the Coach's office. Charlie wasn't sure why, but she wasn't very happy with the scenario. She told herself it was because she was worried about Stiles—about the fact that Lydia still barely knew who he was—but she could tell that it wasn't just a feeling of friendly concern. Sighing heavily, she moved next to him so they were standing shoulder-to-shoulder. "So basically you're telling Scott to ask a girl if she likes you?" she said, raising her eyebrows at him. "Isn't that kind of middle school?"

Stiles waved a hand in her face, silently telling her to shut the hell up. Charlie sighed heavily and pulled at the end of her braid. "Well hasn't this been an eventful day."

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," Stiles continued, his excitement mounting. "Who had two thumbs and made first line? Oh, yeah. That would be me."

Charlie's head snapped around to look at him and a smile covered her face—the first truly genuine smile of the day. Stiles had made first line. Finally, something actually going right for one of them. She grinned widely and punched him in the arm, laughing a bit. "Are you serious?!" she demanded. "Congratulations, man! I'd say you deserve it, but I've never actually seen you play before."

Stiles pulled away, flushing red and looking slightly offended. "Wow. Seriously, Charlie? Where's the faith?"

"You should know by now that I don't have any of that," she replied simply. "But first line? Dude, that is so insanely awesome!"

"Well technically the Coach said Bilisnski made first line," he said with a shrug, grinning sheepishly.

"Then I say congratulations, Biles!" Charlie replied quickly. As soon as the words left her mouth, he gave her a strange look, but kept smiling. She lunged forwards and wrapped him in a hug. "That's quite an achievement."

The hug had initially been meant to be quick, but Stiles's arms cinched in around her middle as well. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head in his shoulder, inhaling deeply. She wasn't sure why she did it, it was a strangely intimate thing to do, but the second she did, she regretted it. Quickly removing her arms from around him, Charlie pushed him back slightly and wrinkled her nose.

"Dude, you smell rank," she said, sticking out her tongue in distaste. "When is the last time you actually washed that Jersey."

"Hey, what did I say earlier?" he objected. "That's the smell of man."

"Yeah?" Charlie shot back, planting her hands on her hips and looking at him with raised eyebrows. "Well 'man' smells like the floor of a cab on New Year's Eve. Try investing in some Febreeze. Or basic hygiene."

"Hey, who has time for hygiene?" Stiles replied. "It gets busy on first line. Did I mention that I made first line?"

Stiles waggled his eyebrows gleefully and held up his hand for a high-five. Charlie rolled her eyes heavily, but raised her hand as well, slapping their palms together loudly. As soon as their hands collided, she winced slightly as a sore pain radiated down her arm. Stiles immediately noticed her discomfort and frowned, and when he glanced at her hand he noticed the purpled bruising around her knuckles. He grabbed her forearm and pushed back the sleeve of her cardigan, inspecting the injury more carefully. He looked between her and her hand a few times, gaping slightly.

"Charlie, what the hell happened?" he demanded anxiously. "How do you keep ending up with all this crap? What is this?"

Charlie's wince deepened as he yanked her hand forwards to inspect it. "It's fine, really. I'm _fine_." Stiles glared back up at her with his own version of the 'what the hell?' expression and she rolled her eyes heavily while shaking out her hand. "I may or may not have punched Jackson in the face during lunch period." Stiles's eyes widened in disbelief and she shrugged defensively. "What? He was being rude."

All of the sudden Stiles dropped her hand and let out a triumphant laugh. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close towards him. Normally he probably would have exhibited more concern or questioned the circumstances more, but for right now he just seemed too swept up in what was going on. And Charlie refused to ruin it for him.

"Holy crap. I made first line. Scott made co-captain. You got to punch Jackson in the face. This day is ending up way more awesome than I thought it would." He shook his head reevaluating his own words and looked at her again with an expression of concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes!" Charlie insisted. "I am fine! Completely fine."

Stiles sighed heavily and looked down at her with a wide smile. "So now that I'm actually going to play in actual games, are you going to stick around for practice or what?"

Charlie scoffed loudly and rolled her eyes. "And miss Bilinski's first day on first line? I'd have to be freaking crazy to pass on something like that."

The two of them made their way to the lacrosse field, chatting idly until they had to split up. Charlie grinned and punched him in the shoulder again. "Knock 'em dead, Biles," she smirked. "Play like I've got money riding on the game."

Stiles gave a salute of understanding and headed towards the rest of the team where they were suiting up, leaving Charlie alone on the spectator's bleachers. She sat there for about fifteen minutes watching them get ready before Scott made his way to the field, walking along until he sat next to Stiles. Charlie couldn't help but narrow her eyes and study the pair of them carefully. Stiles might have by some miracle unearthed his special brand of unbridled enthusiasm, but she hadn't managed to get there quite yet. She could see the two of them talk for a while, and then she saw Stiles get even more excited. After a few moments, he caught her eye and gave her a thumbs-up paired with a ridiculously huge grin. Presumably Scott had just filled him in on what he had figured out from Lydia. And based on Stiles's expression, Scott had just lied his ass off.

A nervous pit began to develop in Charlie's stomach as she watched the players start. It felt like that pit was starting to take up residence there, and was beginning to form a massive black hole that was absorbing everything else going on around her.

"Hey!" Lydia's voice said from right next to her. "I never thought I'd see you here without having to threaten you first."

Charlie didn't look over at her friend, her eyes fixed on the chaos on the field instead, and shrugged. "Things change I guess."

The two girls sat there in silence for most of the practice—shots made and plays lost. Charlie's knee began bouncing up and down with increasing rapidity, and her eyes never left the field. She was just waiting for something to go wrong—she didn't know how she knew crap was about to hit the fan, but she did. Every move made her worry and every collision made her flinch. Lydia kept mumbling about how stupid she was being, but Charlie didn't pay her any mind.

And then it happened.

It started out when Scott got knocked over by one of the players—she wasn't sure which—during one of the shooting drills. The Coach had leaned over him for a few moments and shouted at him in the way that he did. At first Charlie had thought nothing of it, but then Scott grabbed his lacrosse stick and body-checked Stiles before it was his turn to make a shot. Immediately, alarm bells started going off in her head. Nothing good would come of this.

Scott got the ball and barreled forwards. He rammed into the two defensive players like it was nothing at all. And then he kept running at the goal. Danny stepped forwards to block the shot, and Scott rammed into him as well. Only this time, Danny didn't get up. Charlie swore loudly and sprinted onto the field, collapsing on his knees and skidding across the grass until she came to a halt next to the limp figure.

"Hey, Danny," she whispered carefully, pulling off his helmet and careful not to shift his head as other people crowded around. "How's it going?"

"I don't see any cartoon birds," he murmured in response. "I got hit in the head. I was promised cartoon birds. And stars."

It probably wasn't an appropriate time, but Charlie busted out laughing, leaning forwards so that her forehead connected with the grass right next to his head. "Well, we've all got to lose our childhood illusions at some point or another. At least you're not expecting Jessica Rabbit to pop up somewhere and play Florence Nightingale."

Danny chuckled a bit, and before long the paramedics appeared on site to take care of him. Charlie wasn't that worried. They might have been shining lights in his eyes and checking for concussions, but as far as she could tell he was fine. Just a bloody nose. She still stayed with him though, until those paramedics began carting him away. And when she finally got up, she scanned the field and saw Stiles stalking away, that happy expression having completely left his face. Charlie frowned and went to chase after him.

"Stiles!" she called out after him. "Hey, Stiles!" He didn't respond, but kept walking away from her. Charlie picked up her pace until she caught up and grabbed hold of his arm, spinning him around. "Stiles, what the hell is going on?" she demanded, staring at him with wide eyes.

It took a while, but Stiles finally managed to look up at her, forcing eye contact. And the next words out of his mouth were something she had never expected to hear.

"Scott made out with Lydia."

**Okay, there it is. I hope you like it.**

**PLEASE REVIEW! There's nothing witty for me to say at this point. I'm WAYYYYYY too sleep deprived (Like 20 hours of sleep total over the past week and a half). So I guess I'm playing the pity card? I honestly don't know—I'm too tired to tell. I just hope you like it and hope you review.**

**I'll probably go back and revise this chapter after I've slept more. I hope some good will come of that.**

**Also, before I go, thank you so much for the 300+ reviews and 150 favorites! Again, I love you guys so much!  
**


	24. Where The Wild Things Are

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to ishiptoohard, Guest 1, Guest 2, TheMMMG, Skittleslover3, TameTheGhosts, Night-Weaver369, Micaela M, Guest 3, Undeniable Weirdness, Guest 4, Shes-The-Proto-Type, becca1130, MessintheMirror, and SimplyKelly for reviewing. As per usual you guys are the awesomest ever! And then there's BrittWitt16 who now is and forever shall be an inspiration.**

**Love you guys! **

Chapter 23 – Where the Wild Things Are

After getting home from school, Charlie didn't know what to do with herself. A note on the counter let her know that Mel would be working inventory at the shop till far past midnight, so she was left entombed in that house with only her own thoughts to keep her company. She spent about twenty minutes just pacing, going up and down the stairs, winding her way through the rooms completely without direction. Eventually she ended up sitting on the porch, dangling her legs over the edge and kicking them back and forth like she was a little kid, staring out in front of her without really registering anything.

Charlie's mind was torn between two things—what was going to happen later that night when the sun set and the moon began bombarding Beacon Hills and what had happened at the lacrosse game. Blowing out a long breath, her eyes fixed on Lydia's house. She didn't want to believe what Stiles had told her—that Lydia had made out with Scott. There was no definitive proof, just educated guessing and speculation. That little voice in the corner of her brain was screaming 'deny, deny, deny', but Charlie knew better. She was all too familiar with the warped logic of Lydia Martin. With everything that was going on with Allison and Jackson, making out with Scott would have been a way for Lydia to maintain the status quo. She had put pen to paper and done the relationship math.

"Shit," Charlie swore under her breath, staring at the front of that house. As per usual, Lydia's Beetle was parked in the driveway, her mother's car nowhere to be seen. It took Charlie a while, but finally she hopped off the porch and made her way across the street, shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts. Taking a deep breath, she reached up a hand and punched the doorbell. There was a short silence followed by the clacking of heels against hardwood floors before the door was wrenched open to reveal a smiling Lydia.

"Hey, Charlie!" she said brightly. "I wasn't expecting to see you today. I figured you'd probably be your usual shut-in self, living in your tiny hobbit-hole and obsessing over your chemistry notes to try and figure out how many questions you got wrong."

"Yeah, I did that already," Charlie shot back with a weak smile. "Mel's stuck with inventory again, so I figured now would be a good time to—"

"Oh, I know," Lydia breathed out, linking her arm through Charlie's. "We really do have some catching up to do, don't we. Starting with how you thought it would be okay to wear that." She looked Charlie up and down with a critical eye. "I mean, seriously, would it kill you to add a little color? You look like your transitioning to one of those moody types who wear way too much eyeliner and write bad poetry. And that's not something I can be associated with."

Normally Charlie would have come up with some witty retort or another, but today she didn't quite find herself in the mood for that. Instead she just let Lydia drag her upstairs to her room. Charlie sat on Lydia's bed and fisted her hands in the comforter while the other girl moved to her stereo and started blasting music before going to the mirror and touching up some of her lip gloss.

"So," Charlie said in a tone of forced casualness. "What do you think of lacrosse practice today, huh? It got a little crazy."

Lydia scoffed loudly and flipped her hair over her shoulder before turning away from the mirror. "Crazy?" she shot back. "Don't you think that's a bit of an understatement?"

"You mean, Danny?" Charlie prompted, looking at Lydia carefully. "Yeah, that was a bit of bad luck, wasn't it?"

Lydia scoffed again, even more loudly that time around, and turned to face Charlie with her eyebrows raised skeptically. "A bit of bad luck?" she demanded, a slight sneer appearing on her face. "This is the second time Scott McCall has maimed one of our star players. First Jackson, and now Danny? The opposing teams don't to do anything—he's going to eliminate the competition for them."

"Come on, Lydia," Charlie mumbled. "You've got to know Scott is having a hard time with the breakup and everything. Maybe we've got to give him a bit of a break, especially with everything that's going on."

A light snort issued forth from Lydia's nose and a flicker of a knowing smirk pulled at her lips. In that moment, Charlie couldn't really deny the reality of the situation anymore. It was the intense look of self-satisfaction on the girl's face—the same look she always got when one of her idiotic scheme-y plots.

"Do you really think we should be feeling sorry for Scott McCall?" Lydia demanded in a superior-sounding tone. "Not only did he lock us in a room to die the other night, but now he's co-captain of the lacrosse team? Talk about rewarding bad and potentially life-threatening behavior." Charlie bit down on her lip even harder, and pushed herself off of the bed, pacing back and forth a bit and making Lydia look over at her curiously. "Seriously, Charlie, you need to stop doing that. You're going to give yourself premature frown lines."

Charlie stopped pacing and turned back to Lydia, shoving her hands into her pockets and balling them up into tight fists. "Lydia," she said in a low, serious tone, "I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to be honest with me. I mean it."

Lydia gave her a strange look, wrinkling her nose slightly. "What's with all the broodiness?" she demanded, wagging a finger in Charlie's face. "You're grumpier than usual. What's the problem?"

Charlie swatted the hand away and narrowed her eyes at the other girl. Time for the question. She really didn't want to because she was pretty sure she already knew the answer, and it wasn't an answer she liked. But she still had to ask the question anyway. "In the coach's locker room earlier," Charlie continued, waving her hand in a circle like she was trying to rewind time. "Did you make out with Scott?"

The tiny blink of the eyes, the slight gaping of the mouth, the flicker of surprise in the eyes—it wasn't much, but to Charlie it all screamed confirmation. Lydia quickly recovered and let out a light laugh. "What the hell kind of question is that?" she replied in a voice slightly higher pitched than usual.

"I don't know, Lydia," Charlie bit out carefully. "What kind of question do you think it is?"

"Um, an idiotic one," Lydia said dismissively.

"Really?" Charlie demanded, hostile sarcasm edging into her voice. "I think it's the kind of question that has a very simple answer. Yes or no. So which is it?"

Lydia sighed loudly and planted her hands on her hips, facing Charlie down. "Come on, Charlie, it's a ridiculous question. Why the hell would I make out with Scott McCall?"

Charlie pursed her lips and took a small step forward, folding her arms across her chest as she confronted the girl. "Allison and Jackson."

That was all Charlie needed to say. Lydia exhaled sharply and she leaned against her vanity, betraying her insecurities. She shrugged her shoulders primly. "What about them?"

"Come on, Lydia," she murmured bitterly. "You should know by now that you can't bullshit me—I know you too well. I've been taught the crash course in Lydia Martin's school of twisted logic. Jackson's been acting off, we both know it. And so what? You decided that because she seems to have attracted the attention of your guy, you get to prove your own superiority by making out with hers?"

To Charlie's surprise, Lydia smiled slightly. It was a humorless smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, but it was a smile none the less. Lydia let out an exasperated sight and threw her hands in the air in a lame attempt at a confession. "Fine, you caught me," she drawled out. "I kissed Scott. You really don't have to go and make a big deal about it—it was a one-time thing. It's not like it's going to happen again. Plus he uses way too much tongue."

Charlie stood there dumbfounded, her mouth hanging open slightly. "Are you kidding me right now? You can't actually be serious right now."

"Scott and Allison aren't together anymore," she replied. "It's not like anybody's cheating."

"Except for you," Charlie growled back.

"Oh, please," Lydia huffed, rolling her eyes heavily. "Don't pretend that you're shedding a tear for Jackson. You two are tolerating each other even less lately."

"H—yeah," Charlie laughed bitterly, nodding along with her words. "Yeah, you're right. I really don't care about Jackson's emotional status seeing a he's a dick and all that. But the thing is, I'm not talking about him. I'm talking about Allison—you're cheating on Allison. You know Allison, right? Our insanely nice mutual friend who is dressed by cartoon birds in the morning and still has feelings for her ex. Someone who you seem to have no problem tonguing behind the bleachers."

"We were in the Coach's office," Lydia corrected.

"I was being metaphorical!" Charlie sucked in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was having a hard time locking down the feelings of disappointment and anger that seemed to be swirling around inside of her. She had always known Lydia was capable of this kind of thing, but Charlie had always hoped that her friend would take the high road—that she would be better than that. And to discover that the answer to that question was a resounding no….that was a bitter pill to swallow. She looked up at Lydia with a solemn expression. "Lydia, you can't do stuff like this. I understand that someone as brilliant as you can start looking at this type of manipulation as acceptable because you're smart enough to do it without them noticing, but being brilliant doesn't give you the right to screw with people's lives. We're not chess pieces you can push around a board."

Lydia blinked in realization, like something had finally sunk in through that thick layer of hairspray. "You're not a chess piece," she said in a tone slightly edged with panic. "Of course you're not a chess piece. You would overturn the board out of spite before you even came close to being a chess piece. That's why—Charlie, you're my best friend."

"And you're mine," Charlie responded. "But I want to ask you one more question. What if it were me?"

A tiny line formed between Lydia's eyebrows as they furrowed together in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"If it was me instead of Allison," she insisted, taking a small step towards the red-head. "Would you have done anything differently?"

"That's a pointless question," Lydia returned. "There's no way in hell Jackson would suddenly be holding your hand. He kind of hates you. And anyways, you don't even have a boyfriend."

Charlie let out a humorless laugh and ran her hands down her face in frustration. "That's why it's a hypothetical question, Lydia. If it had been me, would you have done anything differently?"

Letting her words hang in the air, Charlie stared down the other girl, studying her face and hoping for the right answer. But Lydia didn't say a thing. She just opened and closed her mouth a few times, lost for words for was probably the first time in her life. Charlie's shoulders slumped, and even though she had been right, she left feeling defeated. "Yup," she sighed out nodding to herself. "Yup, that's what I figured."

Charlie turned to walk out of the room, but before she made it more than two steps away, a perfectly manicured hand shot out and grabbed her arm. "You're not going to tell Allison, are you?"

Charlie stayed silent for a while, considering her options. She kept finding herself caught in the middle of these conflicts, and either way she would end up betraying somebody. Part of her thought that maybe, just maybe, it was easier when she didn't have any friends. Back then everything was so black and white. Now everything seemed to be awash in a sea of gray. She clenched her jaw tightly and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before answering. "No," she said finally. "No, I'm not going to tell her."

Relief spread across Lydia's face and a small, restrained version of that usual confident smile returned. "Okay," she chirped, letting go of Charlie's arm and compulsively smoothing out her clothes like she had just gotten out of some sort of catfight. "Okay, then let's just put this unpleasant episode behind us and watch a movie or something. We can have a girl's night—forget this ever happened. Hell, I've pretty much forgotten about that kiss already. Overall not that impressive. I don't get why Allison's so hung up on him. He kind of looks like a Muppet. Anyways, he must have a huge—"

"Yeah, that's not going to happen," Charlie said, cutting Lydia off.

Lydia froze, not quite sure what to make of that declaration. "Why not?"

"I'm not going to tell Allison," she replied bitterly, "but if you think for even half a second that she's not going to find out somehow, then you're nowhere near as smart as I thought you were."

With that Charlie spun on her heel and marched out of Lydia's room, jogging down the stairs. She had almost made it to the door when she heard the now-familiar uncoordinated clacking sound of heels hitting the stairs as Lydia did her level best to chase after her. Charlie took some pity on the girl, pausing right before the front door and allowing her to catch up. "Come _on_, Charlie!" she called out as she arrived on the first floor. "I'm sorry! Really, I am! It was a huge mistake, and honestly I think I'm going through a bit of post-traumatic stress."

Charlie leaned against the front door and drummed her fingers idly against the doorframe. "It's not me you need to apologize to," she said, raising her eyebrows at Lydia. "You should talk to Allison—work this all out before she hears it from someone else. Because if I've learned anything in my life, it's that your secrets always manage to bite you in the ass, and it's usually in the most inconvenient way possible or when it's far too late to fix it."

"It really didn't mean anything," Lydia insisted. "I don't even like Scott—you know that. I just….I wanted to see if I could."

Charlie's lips pulled down into a deep frown. "You think that makes it any better?" The blank expression on Lydia's face made Charlie grind her teeth. A sudden feeling of exhaustion smacked Charlie in the face and she leaned against the doorframe for support. "Look, Lydia, I don't pretend to know all that much about friendship—I really don't have a ton of experience with it—but I do know this. Friendship isn't a game. There are no winners and losers. I know you think that school is a freaking Petri dish of social Darwinism and all that but….I don't know. I guess I just hoped that you would be better than this." Lydia stood there, speechless, and Charlie pushed herself off the doorframe, wrenching the front door open. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Lydia called out after her as she marched across the street, but Charlie didn't look back. Once she entered her house, she slammed the door behind her and made a beeline for the kitchen, throwing open the cabinets and yanking out the ingredients for lasagna. During her trauma-induced vacation she had worked a full week ahead in her school assignments and needed something to distract her and stop her from being entombed in a mausoleum of teenage angst and supernatural crises that she would never be able to fight her way out of.

Even after everything that had happened, Charlie still wasn't angry at Lydia. She couldn't be angry at the girl for doing something that was in her nature, and if she was being honest that warped logic of Lydia's was one of the reasons Charlie counted her as such a good friend. It was never boring to be around her. But this time around her stratagems had hurt other people—people that she cared about. As she went about preparing the meal, Stiles's face continued to crop up in her mind—the hurt behind his eyes mixing with a quiet rage. Scott, who lately Charlie was having a great deal of difficulty dealing with, had given him hope for a shot of his dream girl and then ripped it away. And while it was the full moon and Charlie knew he wasn't wholly in control of his actions, all of Scott's reasons were sounding less like explanations and more like excuses. What happened today….that wasn't something that Stiles would be able to easily forgive.

By the time the lasagna made it out of the oven, the sun had long since disappeared beneath the horizon. Charlie dropped the glass tray on the kitchen island and grabbed a knife, crudely carving herself a piece. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping one arm around them while the other idly pushed her food around on her plate. She stared at the window like she was watching TV. Through the glass she had a perfect view of the full moon. It was gleaming with a pure, vibrant white and as its light hit the trees below, they glimmered slightly, like they had just been dusted with a thin layer of fresh snow. Under normal circumstances she would have thought the scene was beautiful—peaceful even—but now it just looked threatening. It was taunting her.

Charlie took a small bite of the lasagna, ignoring the searing sensation as it burned the roof of her mouth, and continued to stare at the moon. She was pretty sure she would never be able to look at the thing the same way again. Whether it waxed or waned, it would just be a countdown until it was time for shit to hit the fan again. And right now Stiles was locked up by himself in Scott's house with front row seats.

Charlie scarfed down the rest of her lasagna, swallowing it down in about three bites before throwing herself out of the stool. Grabbing her bag from where she had dropped it next to the door and snatching her keys from the assigned bowl, she practically careened out of the house and climbed into her car before rocketing down the street in the direction of Scott's house. When she pulled around the block, she saw a dingy, well cared for blue Jeep sitting in front. Her eyes raked over the house taking in the exterior. Kind of like Stiles's place it seemed slightly worn, but nice and generally well kept, but with a much nicer looking garden. Apparently Scott's mom had a bit of a green thumb. One thing that was troubling her was the upstairs window. It was open—something that didn't make all that much sense on such a cold night.

Parking her car across the street, Charlie sat in the driver's seat for a moment and steeled herself for what was coming next. She wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't going to be pretty. After locking up her car, she strode over to the front door and lifted her fist to knock on the door, but before her knuckles rapped against the wood of the door, it swung open to reveal a woman about five years older than Mel, pretty with brown eyes and dark, curly hair, wearing blue hospital scrubs. Time to meet Scott's mom. When she saw Charlie at the door, her eyebrows shot up, disappearing into her hairline.

"Um, hello?" Ms. McCall said in an expectant tone.

Charlie let out an uncomfortable laugh and gave a long, slow wave. "Hey, Ms. McCall," Charlie drawled out, a tight smile keeping her face rigid. "How are you this evening?"

"As good as can be expected," the woman replied, eyeing Charlie warily. "Do you mind telling me who you are and what you're doing here?"

"Right," Charlie said, continuing to chuckle nervously. She stuck her hand out and tried to make her smile look more natural. "I'm Charlie—Charlotte—Oswin. I, uh, I go to school with Scott."

"Ah," Ms. McCall said in a tone of comprehension. She took Charlie's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Your Mel's niece. Scott's mentioned you a few times. It's nice to finally put a face to the name."

"Nice to meet you as well," Charlie blurted out. "I was, um, I was just dropping by because Scott had mentioned needing some help with chemistry and—"

All of the sudden she heard noises of scampering in the distance, followed by what sounded like someone running into the wall. After a few moments Stiles appeared in the doorway, nearly falling down. "Hey!" he panted out, standing up straight and planting one hand on his hip and using the other to point between Charlie and Ms. McCall. "So I guess you two have met then. That's super. Charlie's, uh, Charlie's here to help me and Scott out on that school project I was telling you about. The big project." He scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly and gestured at her. "Charlie, you remember the big project, right? The one we've got to do?"

Ms. McCall gave Stiles a strange look, and Charlie got an impression that it was a face she was used to making. After eyeing Stiles, she turned towards Charlie seeming to think she would get a clearer, more cogent answer from her. "Oxidation states," Charlie declared with as much confidence as she could muster. "Harris is being a huge….word I probably shouldn't use in front of my friend's mom directly after meeting her and gave us a project the freaking day of the test about oxidation states and iron. We're about to buckle down and learn more than we ever wanted to know about rust, so that should be fun."

Ms. McCall threw a hand up and nodded in understanding. "Alright, alright. I get it. You guys are responsible and studious. Charlie, it was nice to meet you, hopefully next time I might actually get to talk to you. I've got to head out to work. Stay out of trouble."

"Trouble?" Stiles scoffed in a voice that was just a little too loud. "Who's getting into trouble? Not us that's for—"

"No raves," Charlie interrupted, flashing a smile and giving two thumbs-up. "Got it."

Ms. McCall shot them one last suspicious look before sliding out the door and closing it behind her. Immediately, Stiles hurled himself towards the window and peeked through the curtains. Charlie frowned and came up behind him. "Stiles, what are you doing?"

"Bzzt!" he said, waving his hand at her and not taking his eyes off the car. When Ms. McCall finally pulled out of the driveway, Stiles turned away from the window, looking at her with wide eyes. "Okay, so I know I ask this question a lot and pretty soon the sentence is going to lose all meaning—you know, like when you repeat a word so often is sounds all weird and made up—but Charlie, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Oh, come on, Stiles," she said, rolling her eyes heavily. "You really didn't think I'd leave you with all this on your own. Especially with….everything that happened at practice today. I needed to make sure you were okay. Plus you need someone to make sure you don't screw it up."

Stiles laughed and rubbed at the back of his head, plopping down on the couch. "As per usual, I'm not sure whether I should be grateful or offended."

Charlie shrugged her shoulders and sat down next to him. "I like to keep it interesting." The two of them sat in silence for a while. Stiles's knee began bouncing up and down and he studied his hands carefully. Maybe she was being presumptuous, but Charlie was pretty sure she knew what was going on in his head. Part of him was still desperate to help his friend, and it was fighting that other part that just wanted to say screw it and leave him to the wolves in a manner of speaking. And honestly, she really didn't blame him for that guilty impulse. After all the shit he had pulled in the last twenty four hours, describing Scott as a 'raging asshat' would be a generous turn of phrase. When it came down to it, she wasn't really here to help Scott. She was here to help Stiles.

"So where is Scott?" she asked quietly, nudging him in the side.

"His mom says he hasn't gotten home yet," he murmured.

She bit her lip and nodded in understanding. "What's the plan?"

Stiles silently got up and made his way into the other room, and when he returned he was toting a heavy duffle bag. He tossed it on the ground and Charlie crouched down next to him as he unzipped the thing. Inside was what looked like about twenty feet of steel chain. Charlie grabbed hold of the chain and pulled it up, inspecting is as the light glinted off the metal. "Yup, that should do it." She sighed heavily and looked over at Stiles. "We should probably get everything set up. If today is any indication, Scott's not exactly going to be an enthusiastic participant."

The two of them ran up the stairs and began making their way towards Scott's room, but when they got about half way up, Stiles stopped suddenly, blocking her way up. She frowned up at him. "What gives, man?"

He stared at her for a moment, a thoughtful crease forming between his eyebrows. "N—nothing," he stammered out. "I just wanted to say—I mean, there's not many people who…Thank you. Thank you is what I'm trying to say. In an over-complicated, rambly way, but I just figure…I don't know. You just always show up whenever I need help and I guess I need you to know that I appreciate it."

Charlie smiled warmly and clapped a hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't be such a chick."

Stiles gaped at her for a minute before rolling his eyes heavily. "Seriously? I'm trying to be all nice and appreciative and considerate and then you have to go and throw it in my face? Every freaking time."

Charlie shrugged. "You should expect it by now. I mean seriously, dude. I'm a pain in the ass. Haven't you worked that out by now?"

Letting out a loud groan, Stiles continued to climb the stairs. "Don't be such a chick," he muttered bitterly to himself. "And you say that I'm sexist. That was like the least enlightened thing I've heard all year. Some feminist you are. Margaret Atwood must be rolling over in her grave right now."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure Margaret Atwood's not dead."

"Pick one of the other ones, then!" he shot back. "Virginia Woolf, Susan B. Anthony, all those crazy ones who burned their bras in the 1960s—all of them are rolling in their graves."

A small smile appeared on Charlie's face as Stiles continued to rant on how she was disappointing the feminist cause—a topic which he apparently knew a surprising amount about before falling into a grumbling silence as they made it to the top of the stairs. The two of them moved down the hallway in the direction of what Charlie assumed was Scott's room. As soon as Stiles made it into the doorway, though, he let out a surprised shout. Charlie rushed forward to see what had happened, but he held up a hand before she broke the line of the doorframe, silently waving her off.

"Dude," he said, trying to catch his breath. "You scared the hell out of me. Your mom said you weren't home yet." He took a step forwards, disappearing through the door, and dropped the duffel bag on the floor, the contents within clinking menacingly.

Then another disembodied voice spoke. Objectively Charlie could tell that it was Scott, but to her it had the overtones that typically characterized the serial killers in horror flicks when they're giving their 'you're about to die' speeches. It was all bitterness and rage, devoid of anything that made him sound at all human. She quietly leaned against the wall next to the door and stared at the wall across from her where the beige paint met the wood wainscoting that lined it, trying to fight down the involuntary feelings of panic.

"I came in through the window," he rasped.

"Okay," Stiles muttered in his usual 'what the hell' tone. "Ah, well let's get this set up." Charlie could hear him fumbling with his bag for a few seconds. "I want you to see what I bought."

"I'm fine," Scott growled. "I'm just going to lock the door and go to bed early tonight."

"You sure about that?" Stiles demanded. "Because you've got this kinda….serial killer look going on in your eyes and I'm hoping it's the full moon…taking effect because it's really starting to freak me out."

"I'm fine," Scott insisted in a voice that did not sound at all fine. "I know you're not alone," he continued.

Charlie squeezed her eyes shut and her heart jumped a beat. She might never be able to get used to this crap. How were you supposed to hide from a werewolf when they could sense your presence?

"Wh—what are you talking about?" Stiles stammered out nervously.

"I can hear two heartbeats," he muttered. "I know there's someone else right outside the door. You can come in, Charlie."

Charlie's breath hitched in her chest, but she forced it down. She didn't want Scott to hear her nervousness, though admittedly it was a bit late for that. She pushed herself off the wall and stepped into the doorway, leaning against the frame and shoving her hands in her pockets, adopting the most casual pose she could muster. It was difficult, given the fact that Scott was looking at her like he wanted to rip her throat out, but she was a pretty good liar. The trick was making yourself believe the lie, and at that moment she was believing with as much intensity as she could that she was not scared of him. "Okay, so I get why you knew there was someone else here," she replied sarcastically, nodding at him, "but how did you know it was me?"

"Your smell," Scott answered.

"My _smell_?" she scoffed, raising her eyebrows at him. "That's kind of disturbing. I have a _smell_?"

"Lavender," Stiles murmured from his position crouched down next to the bag.

Charlie scrunched up her face in confusion. "What?"

He paled slightly and looked up at her. "What?"

"I'm fine," Scott said again, looking between them with those aptly described serial killer eyes.

An appeasing smile covered Charlie's face. "Of course you are," she agreed. "But it sucks being alone, right? We could hang out, trash talk crappy movies, play some video games….low key stuff, you know?"

The hostile blankness on Scott's face persisted. "You should go now. Both of you."

Stiles and Charlie glanced at each other, their inner uneasiness slowly spreading across their faces. This was so not going according to plan. And now they were standing in a room with a potentially homicidal teen werewolf. Hormones plus heartbreak plus full moon? It was not shaping up to be the best of evenings.

"Alright," Stiles said carefully, like he was talking to a wound bear that was about to lash out. "Alright, we'll leave." He began stand up, but let out a huff of frustration, staring down at his duffel bag. "Well, loo—would you just at least look in the bag and see what I bought?" he demanded. "You know…maybe you use it, maybe you don't. Sound good?"

"Yeah," Charlie said, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, you should probably know what your options are."

Slowly, like a mediocre supervillain, Scott pushed himself up out of his chair. He took several slow steps towards Stiles and the bag, and each step he took Charlie's hands formed tighter and tighter fists inside her pockets. By the time that Scott was kneeling down right next to Stiles, her nails were digging into the flesh of her palm. Scott reached into the bag and pulled out the chains.

"You think I'm going to let you put these on—chain me up like a dog?" he snarled, looking at Stiles like he had just betrayed him. He dropped the chains and glowered at Stiles. They were too close to each other—way too close to each other. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Charlie realized that she had stopped breathing.

"Actually, no," Stiles responded sadly. Then, in a flurry of movement, he lunged forward and grabbed Scott's arm. It all happened too quickly for her brain to register exactly what was going on, but Charlie heard the distinct sound of metal grating against metal. Stiles stumbled backwards, colliding with her, and it was only after she had helped him back up that Charlie realized what had happened. Scott was hand-cuffed to the radiator.

Charlie grabbed hold of Stiles's jacket, her hand fisting in the fabric, as the two of them watched Scott struggle against the restraints. "You know you could have told me you had a plan B," she whispered.

"Plan Bs require actual planning," he replied, not taking his eyes off of Scott. "This was more of a desperate last ditch effort type scenario."

"Well thank God for last ditch efforts, then."

"What the hell are you doing?!" Scott shouted, yanking against the constraints.

Stiles straightened up and looked down at his friend with an air of superiority. There was no pity there, just anger and bitterness. And that's when Charlie knew that this time, Scott wouldn't be winning Stiles's forgiveness all that easily. He had crossed what looked like the only line in their relationship. Lydia. Lydia would always be Stiles's weak spot. And while Charlie understood why that was the case, she kind of wished he had chosen one that wouldn't end up disappointing him quite so much.

"I'm protecting you from yourself," Stiles finally said, a slight sneer on his face. "And giving you some payback. For making out with Lydia." Scott didn't respond. He just stared up at Stiles with that deadly look. The two of them faced off for a few seconds before Stiles started laughing angrily. He turned to face her with coldness in his eyes that actually scared her a little bit. "You mind watching him for a bit," he muttered, jerking his head in Scott's direction. "He hasn't been potty trained yet and I've got something I need to do."

Charlie's jaw clenched, but she nodded in agreement. "Sure, do your thing."

Stiles disappeared from the room and jogged down the stairs, his feet hitting the steps with loud thumps. She sighed heavily and leaned against one of the walls, sliding down it until she was in the sitting position. She stared out directly in front of her, doing her best to ignore the hostile grunts of the guy sitting about twenty feet away. Honestly, this whole thing felt like she was in one of those movies where the villain had been captured, but would keep messing with everyone's head until somebody makes a mistake and lets him go. She had never really thought of Scott as a villain before, but the way things were shaking out he was exhibiting all the tell-tale signs.

"So you're just going to ignore me then," Scott growled at her. "You're just going to let this happen to me? You're just going to let him lock me up like an animal?"

"Pretty much, yeah," she said lightly. "In case you haven't noticed, you've been having a few issues in impulse control lately—knocking Danny out, kissing your best friend's girl…..And if my research is correct, your impulses tonight will include the mauling of adorable woodland creatures and/or people. Seeing as I fit inside that general categorization, I'm landing squarely in the 'keep Scott locked up' line of thinking."

"It's not my fault," Scott said, suddenly shifting into a plaintive tone. "I didn't mean to do any of it. Really, I didn't. It's the full moon…it's like it's making me do these things! If I could take it back, I would! You have to know that, Charlie! I want to make it right—I _need _to make it right. Please just let me go."

Charlie looked over at him for a moment. His eyes were wide and innocent, a lot like he usually looked, and he was pleading with her desperately. She just snorted to herself and rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Scott, do you really think I'm that easy a mark?" she demanded, raising her eyebrows at him. "That you can blink those big brown eyes at me and then I'll just fold? I have a pretty good bullshit detector and it's beeping all over the place. And by the way 'I have no control over my actions' is a pretty shitty argument if you're trying to get someone to let you go. Just FYI."

"I thought we were friends," Scott said. "Please, _please_ let me go."

"Sorry, soldier," Charlie said, shaking her head. "That's a no-go."

It was like a switch had been flipped. All of the sudden all the sympathy drained out of Scott's face, leaving behind only pure, unbridled malice. "You think you've got everybody fooled with that little act of yours, don't you?" he sneered, leveling her with a glare. "Always acting so tough."

"Who says I'm acting?" she chirped, flexing her bicep and kissing it theatrically. "Check out these guns. Robocop hasn't got a thing on me."

A deep, rumbling cackle issued forth from Scott's mouth. He stayed silent for a few moments, staring at her like he was measuring her up—probing for weaknesses. And when he finally spoke again, his voice sounded almost gleeful. "It's just you and me in here Charlie. You don't have to pretend. I can see right through you. You're just a scared, broken little girl. It's pathetic, really, how hard you try. But I can hear your heartbeat, Charlie. I can tell when you're scared, and you're scared all the time. All that moving around you did….do you ever wonder if any of those people actually miss you? I mean, do they even remember you? You know, I actually feel sorry for you a lot of the time, because what do you really have here? A few friends who would be just fine without you, an aunt who would probably be better off without you. How does it feel to know that you're holding everybody else back?"

Shit. Full moon Scott knew exactly what buttons to push, and he knew exactly where it would hurt the most. As he spoke, a feeling of hollowness built up inside Charlie. It was like he had looked into her subconscious and plucked out all of her insecurities to shove in her face while she was awake. Her jaw twitched as she clenched her teeth together, and a sadistic smile spread across Scott's face. The rage that swept through her as she sat there wasn't the same type that she had felt against Jackson earlier that day. That had been a hot rage—the one that forced her to swing her fist. This one was a cold rage, calm but even fiercer. She pushed herself up against the wall so that she was sitting straighter and shot Scott a serene smile.

"You're right, Scott," she said in a low-pitched, almost musical tone. "I am a bit broken. Kudos to you for figuring that out."

"That's it?" Scott sneered. "You give up pretty easy."

"Oh, I don't think I've given up," she replied, inspecting her nails idly. "Because I'm not the one who lost here."

For the first time in their conversation, the overly confident look on Scott's face faltered slightly. "And how do you figure that?"

Charlie let out a light laugh. "Because tomorrow you're going to wake up and the psychopath isn't going to be there anymore. But everything you did and said today? That's going to stick. And no matter how many times you say that you're sorry, no matter how much time passes, it's always going to be there. People forgive, but they rarely forget. And you'll spend the rest of your life wondering whether or not they actually meant it, wondering if every time they get that look in their eyes they're thinking about what you did."

"You think I care?" Scott spat back.

Charlie made a face and shrugged her shoulders casually. "I doubt you care today, but you will tomorrow. And you might have the power now Scott, but when you come crawling back in the morning with that sappy apology, I get to decide if I want to accept it or if I'll tell you to shove that apology so far up your own ass that you choke on it." He looked at her with an expression of mild surprise, making cluck and shake her head at him. "Come on, Scott. You really didn't think you were the only person in this room capable of being vindictive, did you? You should have listened harder to my advice earlier."

Her statement would have just hung in the air, creating a moment of uniquely powerful dramatic tension, but it was immediately followed by the sound of a squeaking floorboard. Charlie's eyes fell shut involuntarily. Stiles was standing right outside the door, leaving her to wonder exactly how much he had heard of her posturing speech. He must have realized he had been found out, because a moment later he rounded the corner, holding a water bottle and a food bowl crudely labeled 'Scott' in black Sharpie. His eyes flickered in her direction for about half a second before he waved the two props around and glowered at Scott, who was stretched across the floor.

"I brought you some water," he said, holding the bottle up so that he could theatrically pour its contents in the bowl. He dropped it on the floor in front of Scott before silently holding out a hand to Charlie. He helped her to her feet and jerked his head in the direction of the door, indicating that it was time for them to go. She nodded in understanding and they were both about to make they're way out the door when Scott tossed away the dog bowl, hitting Stiles in the back.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Stiles stood there for a moment, his jaw twitching, before spinning on his heel. "You kissed her, Scott!" he spat. "Okay? You kissed Lydia! That's my—like the one girl I ev—! And you know the past three hours I've been thinking it's probably just the full moon, you know? He doesn't even know what he's doing—tomorrow he'll be totally back to normal. He probably won't even remember what a complete…dumbass he's been. A son of a bitch—a freaking unbelievable piece of crap friend!"

Charlie put a hand on Stiles's shoulder, pulling him back slightly. There was no good that come out of this line of conversation. The best she could do was get Stiles out of there before things became irrevocably broken. Unfortunately she didn't make her move quite quickly enough. Scott, who had been resting his forehead against the floor, slowly lifted his head.

"She kissed me," Scott said with a sadistic smirk.

She heard a sharp intake of breath from Stiles. "Wh—what?"

"I didn't kiss her," he continued, his smile broadening. "She kissed me." Stiles shook his head and moved towards the door, immediately followed by Charlie. The both of them exited the room, but Scott, knowing they were still in earshot, continued with the goading. "She would have done a lot more too," he said, raising his voice slightly so that Stiles could still hear. "You should've seen the way she had her hands all over me. She would've done anything I wanted. ANYTHING!"

Charlie's eyes began to sting as she watched Stiles slump against the wall outside the door, sliding down it as Scott threw the kiss in his face. She could feel her chest tighten, but she forced her breaths to stay slow and even, even if they were shaking slightly. She leaned against the wall opposite Stiles and stayed quiet for a long time while he held his head in his hands. When he finally looked back up at her, his eyes were shining with unwanted tears. She just wasn't sure if they were over Lydia or Scott.

"Is he telling the truth?" Stiles asked finally. "About Lydia—is Scott telling the truth?"

Charlie sighed heavily and sat down next to Stiles so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder, and for some reason Charlie was highly aware of that proximity. She scratched at her forehead and bit her lip hesitantly before looking him in the eye. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Not really, no," he replied dully. "Just tell me whatever will make me feel better."

Charlie raised her eyebrows at him skeptically and nudged him in the side with her elbow. "Stiles, do you really think there's a preferable option here?"

His head sagged slightly, but he nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Just hit me with the truth."

"Lydia kissed him," Charlie answered honestly. "I'm pretty sure the rest is bullshit, but Lydia kissed him. Some idiotic way of getting back at Jackson. I'm sorry."

Stiles continued to nod in defeated understanding, but when he finally looked back up at her he was the one wearing an expression of concern. "What about that other stuff he said?" Stiles prompted. "Was that stuff true too?"

Charlie frowned in confusion. "What other stuff?"

"Please, Charlie," he said with a roll of the eyes. "I know you know I was listening in. All that stuff Scott said about you being broken and not having anything here—you don't actually believe that, do you?"

Wrenching her eyes away from his, Charlie stared intently at her feet. "Well you were standing there for longer than I thought you were."

"That's not an answer," Stiles insisted. "I mean, you can't actually th—why would you even think that?"

Charlie blew out a long breath and shrugged. "Every girl's got her insecure moments. Mine just don't happen to include the pimple beginning to form in the middle of my forehead or whether or not I've color-coordinated my shoes and my nail polish. And the way Scott made it sound is a whole lot more colorful and dramatic than it really is."

"Well it's a giant load of crap," Stiles blurted out immediately. "Like a mountain of crap. The Everest of crap mountains."

A small grin formed on her face and she looked back at him, only to find him staring at her wide, sincere eyes. "Thank you, Stiles. You conjured up a top-notch mental image with that one. I don't think I'll ever be able to un-visualize that."

He grinned back widely. "I do what I can."

Charlie snorted lightly and nodded. "So how did you like my rebuttal speech?" she inquired sarcastically. "Too much?"

"Are you kidding?" Stiles replied. "That was freaking awesome. I felt like I was watching the confrontation scene in some superhero movie. 'Did you really think you were the only one in the room capable of being vindictive?' Classic."

"I do what I can," she said, mimicking his words.

"Yeah, why are you though?" Stiles asked, a curious expression forming on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean why are you helping with all this?" he barreled on, waving his hands around in the air. "Why are you helping Scott? I barely want to help him and I'm his best friend. You guys—I mean you're kind of friends, but not enough to put up with all this."

Charlie cocked her head to the side, considering his words. "Scott's generally a good guy," she replied. "He's been shoved into some pretty shitty circumstances. Sometimes people just need to be given the benefit of the doubt. Sure I kind of want to punch him in the face while doing so, but…." She let the statement trail off and looked at Stiles poignantly. "And anyways, I'm not just here to help Scott. I'm here to help you too. Plus all of this drama? It's better than cable."

"Ah," Stiles drawled out in a tone of realization. "I get it now. This is all just entertainment for you. You're just passing the time."

"Duh," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "As soon as 'The Walking Dead' comes back on the air, you guys are on your own."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. "Well that's just fantastic. What happened to nerd solidarity?"

"Yeah, that's for Dungeons and Dragons and World of Warcraft and all those things that don't actually involve potential physical altercations," Charlie said wisely. "In the real world it's all chaos and self-preservation and wedgie avoidance strategies."

Stiles began shaking his head and snickering loudly. "Wedgie avoidance strategies? Where the hell do you come up with this stuff?" Then all of the sudden he stopped laughing and a more serious expression crossed his face. "Hey, Charlie," he murmured. "I was just wondering….last night when I was—"

"Silly like a sorority sister on sangria?" she supplied.

Stiles let out a small, uncomfortable laugh and continued. "Good use of alliteration. Anyways when I was—did I say or do anything stupid? It's just, Scott's been saying some stuff and he's not exactly at his most trustworthy right now, so—"

"You didn't say anything stupid, Stiles," Charlie interrupted, making him slump forwards with relief. "At least no more so than usual."

Stiles glowered at her. "Why do you always have to add that bit at the end? Why can't you just say 'no you didn't say anything stupid' and leave it at that?"

"Um, because this way is more fun," she replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And because, drunk or sober, the 'bear vs. shark' debate is stupid. Though it makes more sense to think about that kind of stuff when you're drunk."

"Dude, no it's not!" he shot back. "How many times to I have to say it—it's a _hypothetical_ discussion! Hypothetical meaning not real, theoretical—"

"Irrelevant," Charlie tacked on. "Pointless—"

"Oh my God, I hate you so much," he drawled out. "What about polar bears, hm? They swim in the water—in the ocean! There are sharks in the ocean. And with global warming melting all the polar ice caps they're going to be swimming a lot more. Bears and sharks in the same environment. Which one is going to win?"

"Did you _Google_ bear vs. shark?" she demanded incredulously. "Are you seriously investing that much effort in this? You need to move on, man. Take up a hobby, practice lacrosse, study more—I'm sorry but this is getting more than slightly ridiculous. You need to move on. Pick a different debate."

"This from the girl who keeps wondering who would in a fight between cavemen and astronauts," Stiles said with a loud scoff. "Is that more likely than a fight between a bear and a shark? Bears and sharks actually _do_ coexist. When's the last time you've seen a caveman?"

"Well, apparently I'm looking at one right now," Charlie snapped. "Let's go find Neil Armstrong and let the two of you duke it out. Then I guess I'll have my answer."

Stiles let out a loud scoff and rolled his eyes. "Neil Armstrong is like 800 years old."

"Great!" Charlie chirped happily. "It'll be a fair fight then!"

Stiles's face morphed into a weird expression that was caught somewhere between a scowl and a smile. "Oh, you did not just—"

Apparently the two of them did find a debate—debating which debate was the best debate. And then debating which one of them was the best debater. And then of course Stiles had to go to that immature place and claim he was a 'master debater' and the whole thing pretty much devolved from there. But immaturity was a bit of a refuge. It's easier to feel less responsible for the person crying out in the next room when you're acting like a five-year-old. And when you're talking loudly. As the clock ticked by, Stiles and Charlie got increasingly loud and yelly, allowing their own voices to drown out the frustrated grunting and whimpering from the other room.

And then it all changed. It was strange—Charlie had never realized how much could go wrong in the space of a single bathroom break. Or maybe she had, but she hadn't been thinking of it at the time. But for whatever reason, during those three minutes and fifty-seven seconds she had been gone, the tide had turned. The spell had broken. Hope had left the building. All levity was gone, and what they were left with was the desperate sounds of despair emanating from Scott's room. And what was worse, Charlie couldn't tell if they were real or fake.

Charlie turned the corner down the hallway, making her way back towards Scott's room and saw Stiles slumped back against the wall. "Stiles, please let me out," Scott pleaded. His voice had lost all overtones of hostility and he almost sounded like himself again, except for the labored breathing and the clinking noise of the handcuffs as they slid against the radiator. "It's the full moon, I swear! You know I wouldn't do any of this on purpose!"

Even from down the hall, Charlie could see Stiles wringing his hands in an almost pathological way. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek until it bled and her mouth was filled with the taste of pennies. Silently, she walked down the hallway and sat next to her. He didn't look at her, still staring straight in front, but continued to wring his hands, his knuckles straining white against his skin. So she stared at the wall before her as well, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping an arm around them, digging her fingernails into the skin of her leg. But the other hand reached over and grabbed Stiles's, lacing the fingers together and giving it a firm squeeze. He still didn't look at her, but exhaled sharply and squeezed back.

"Please, Stiles, let me out!" Scott continued. "It's starting to hurt. It's not like the first time—it's the full moon, it's Allison breaking up with me. I know…that it's not just 'taking a break'. She broke up with me. And it's killing me. I feel….completely hopeless. Just please…let me out."

She felt Stiles tense up next to her and his grip on her hand tightened even further. "I can't."

There was a short pause and then Scott began to groan again, louder and more pained than before. And then a primal, otherworldly scream erupted from Scott's mouth, chilling her to her bones. Stiles took a shaking breath and released her hand before covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut, blocking out everything that he could. Charlie wanted to do the same, but instead she wrapped her now free arm around her legs as well, forcing herself to keep her eyes and her ears open. She needed to experience it, because what was happening right now in the other room was the reason she was going to forgive Scott for all the shit he had done. She wasn't a good person—the type who forgives for forgiveness's sake. She needed a reason—she needed for things to balance out—and as Scott screamed and fought, the scales were aligning once again. She just wished she had managed to get there without feeling sick.

Her eyes bored into the wood wainscoting across from her with such intensity, she was surprised it didn't catch fire. The screaming continued without end, and then she felt something grabbing at her hand. She glanced down and saw Stiles's hand. He had dropped them from his ears and while one of them was still covering his face, the other was linking a few fingers with her own. Her hand stayed clutching her leg and it was only his index and middle finger hooked through her ring and index finger, but it still kind of felt like each of them was the other's lifeline, keeping them tethered to ground and stopping them from spinning into despair.

And then the screaming stopped. A low, inhuman growl rumbled in Scott's room, followed by complete silence. Stiles and Charlie finally looked at each other for about half a second before their necks snapped around in the direction of Scott's room.

"Scott, are you okay?" Stiles asked carefully. When there was no response, he stood up, dragging Charlie along with him. "Scott?"

Stiles slowly pushed the bedroom door open and the both of them peered in. The room was completely empty. The warped metal that used to be a pair of handcuffs lay abandoned on the floor and three small streaks of blood practically painted Scott's path like one of those insanely boring 'Family Circus' cartoons with the dashed line behind one of those annoying kids. He had gone out the window. He was loose—unleashed upon the world. Stiles swore heavily and immediately bolted from the room. Charlie darted after him, sprinting down the stairs and following him to his car.

"Stiles!" she called out after him. "Stiles, stop! What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, Charlie!" he shouted as he yanked open the car door and slid into the driver's seat. "I'm going to find him and stop him before he does something stupid. Like kill somebody."

Charlie skidded to a halt next to the car and held an arm out, blocking him from closing the door. "What's going to happen if you did find him? What's to stop him from going after you? In case you haven't noticed he's not exactly in the best mindset, and believe it or not I'd be pretty bummed if you end up being the one who gets his throat slashed!"

"Scott's not going to kill me," Stiles said in a monotone voice.

"He's tried to before!" Charlie practically shrieked. "You told me he's tried to before!"

"Then what are we supposed to do, Charlie!" he exclaimed. "We can't do nothing!"

"I'm not saying we do nothing," she reasoned. "I'm saying we do something that works."

"And what do you think will work!"

Charlie exhaled sharply and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. "The same thing that worked last time—the night of Lydia's party. We need to find Derek."

**I think I've conquered sleep deprivation, so that's good! Hopefully I've caught up enough to produce a good chapter. At first I was going to try and get this episode done in two chapters, but as per usual my words kind of ran away with me.**

**Please review! I jump up and down and squeal embarrassingly. So, yup. Please review. Pretty please.**


	25. Lonely Is The Night

**Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.**

**A huge thank you to becca1130, easythrowaway, Undeniable Weirdness, ishiptoohard, winchesterxgirl, PhoenixRage92, TheMMMG, MessintheMirror, VeeWillRockYou, TameTheGhosts, Skittleslover3, Guest 1, FetusPosey3, BriancyyD, taytayfanatical, Guest 2. Alsynea, Harukasa, and Micaela M. And, as always, to the awesome BrittWitt 16.**

Chapter 24 – Lonely Is The Night

"Derek?"

Stiles was staring at her with his mouth hanging open slightly, clearly not believing what he was hearing. He shook his head like he was trying to shake water out of his ears before climbing back out of his Jeep and pacing back and forth a bit.

"Okay, let me just—let me just get this straight," he stammered out waving his hand in her direction. "We've established that werewolves exist. We've established that it's the full moon. And you want to—what? Go out and find one of them? What are you guys going to do—hang out and play video games? I mean seriously, Charlie, come on!"

"Stiles," she murmured in an appeasing tone, "you really need to calm down."

He abruptly stopped pacing and spun to face her, his eyebrows raised. "Calm d—_calm down_? Are you actually telling me to calm down right now? The alpha's out killing people, Scott's on the loose, and my da—!" His voice cracked slightly and he fell silent, pinching the bridge of his nose to cover up the few tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. She pretended not to notice as he quickly swiped them away. "My dad's out there right now with no freaking clue what's going on—what he needs to protect himself from. I'm not seeing many reasons to calm down."

Charlie exhaled sharply and pressed her hand to her forehead, pushing her hair out of her face. "Yeah, pretty much everything is shit right now," she said nodding. "But Derek's not going to make anything any worse than it is. What did Scott say about Derek on the last full moon—how he was acting?"

Stiles sighed and rubbed at the back of his head. "He said that Derek was in total control. Not wolfed out or anything, just his usual, curmudgeon-y, quiet, stare-y, pain in the ass normal self."

"So in that insanely long list of adjectives you threw out there," Charlie said, waving around her hands for emphasis, "nowhere did I hear dangerous or homicidal. Look, I know how much we'd both like to deal with this on our own, but let's face it. We don't have what it takes. And that doesn't mean that we're not two beautiful specimens of the human race because we totally are, but we're _human_. And right now that's not enough."

Stiles glowered defiantly for a moment, but then his shoulders slumped and he folded his arms across his chest and nodded. He knew she was right. In the grand scheme of things the two of them—they were logistics and backup. Maybe even the brains of the operation if they were feeling egotistical at that particular moment. But they didn't have magical healing powers or super-speed or super-strength or any of the things that, when it came down to it, were necessary for this kind of thing. And they both knew it.

"So what do we do?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean we haven't heard anything from Derek since that time he was turned into a human shish kabob. I mean technically do we even know he's alive?"

"He's alive," Charlie responded with more confidence than she actually felt.

"How do you know?" Stiles demanded. "I mean wouldn't he have done or said something—anything—to let us know?"

"Well that would probably be a bit difficult seeing as Scott made him a fugitive from justice and all that," Charlie reminded him.

"But still," he insisted, leaning against the side of his Jeep and looking at her pointedly. "How do we find him? Have you got an idea?"

"Yes," she mumbled under her breath.

"Is it a good idea?" Stiles prompted.

"No."

Stiles let out a slightly demented laugh and threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Well I've got to say you're really inspiring a lot of confidence here. Really, I don't see how anything could go wrong."

Charlie frowned and scratched at her forehead. "Is it a good plan? No. But as far as I can tell it's the only one we've got. I just—I need to get Derek's attention. I think I can do that."

He sighed heavily and ran his hands down his face. "You're really not going to even consider not doing….whatever the hell you're planning on doing, are you?"

"Nope," she replied, popping the 'p'. "Not even close."

"Okay," Stiles said, nodding in defeat. "What you need me to do."

"I just need some information," she replied. "Are the police still staking out Derek's house to see if he goes back?"

"No," Stiles mumbled, shaking his head. "We don't have the manpower for that, especially with all of the attacks that have been going on lately. Keeping deputies on the house would just spread us out too thin. It's not viable."

"Right," Charlie murmured, gnawing on her fingernails in thought. "Well I'm going to draw him in—get him to show up there."

"How are you going to do that?"

Charlie waved him over, indicating for him to follow her. She crossed the street and made her way to the back of her car. She grappled around in her bag until she found the keys and quickly threw open the trunk. She leaned over the cavity and grabbed the flashlight that always stayed tucked in the mesh netting that lined the inside and switched it on, shining it inside to illuminate all of the small corners. All of the sudden Stiles appeared next to her, peering in as well with a weird expression on his face. "Are you planning on running away and joining some group of transient laborers or something? What the hell is all of this stuff?"

Charlie straightened slightly and furrowed her eyebrows, looking at the trunk. It was a little much. She had a basic toolbox tucked into one of the corners, jumper cables, a hand-crank generator, bolt cutters, pepper spray, a pair of hiking boots, and a crap load of other stuff. He reached into the trunk and grabbed a handful of chains that the neatly curled up. "Hey, hey, hey," she hissed, swatting his hand away. "Leave those alone. They take forever to get untangled."

"Um, it would have been nice to know that you had those," he muttered. "You could have saved me like fifty bucks. Why do you even have chains anyway?"

"In case the road ices over in the winter," she replied, still fumbling around looking for the right tools. Finally her hand found its way around that small bit of metal and plastic wedged in the back. "Ah, here it is."

She extracted herself from inside the trunk and lifted the tool in the air, making Stiles let out a small cry and stumbled backwards a bit. "Charlie! What the—what the hell? Why do you have a gun?"

Charlie rolled her eyes and looked at the small thing in her hand. "Jesus, Stiles, untwist your panties and look a bit more closely. It's orange, dumbass. How many orange guns have you come across in your lifetime?"

Stiles blinked and squinted his eyes, looking a bit more closely. "A…flare gun? You have a flare gun?"

"Yup."

"Okay, again, why do you carry a flare gun?" he demanded, frowning slightly.

Charlie slammed the trunk shut and tucked the flare gun into the back waistband of her shorts. "Remember how I told you my dad was a bit overprotective?"

Stiles bobbed his head, looking ever-so-slightly uncomfortable at the mention of her dad. "Sure."

"Well he's not the 'lock your daughter up so nothing can ever get to her' type of overprotective," she explained. "He's the 'always have a contingency plan' kind of overprotective. _Semper paratus_ and all that. Always be able to get yourself out of a sticky situation. Car breaks down, caught outside over night, iced roads, being pinned down by a ravenous bear, the world breaks down into a 'Mad Max' style post-apocalyptic hellscape—always have a solution or an exit strategy. It actually made me a pretty good delinquent, though I doubt that what he was going for. But I did only get caught for about ten percent of my pranks, and most of them were the ones I tried to pull before middle school."

"Okay, first of all that's both awesome and creepy. Second of all….so you're going to go to Derek's house, fire off a few flares, and hope he shows up?" Stiles demanded, waving his hands around erratically. Charlie shrugged and nodded, making him groan loudly. "You were right. That's not a very good plan. It kinda seems like crossing your fingers and hoping."

"Any more so than driving around in the dark looking for somebody with superhuman abilities who doesn't want to be found?" she replied drolly. "And by the way, I seriously doubt he's making sure to use the major thoroughfares."

"Okay, fair point."

Charlie sighed heavily and pulled her loose hair up into a messy bun. "Look, can you just go and get that police scanner I'm about ninety-eight percent you've got stored in your glove compartment and listen in? It'd be good to know what's up."

Stiles gave her a bit of a weird look, making her raise her eyebrows at him. After a second he jogged over to his car and leaned in the open window, fiddling with the glove compartment before pulling out something that vaguely reminded her of those old brick-sized portable telephones from the 1990s. He punched one of the buttons and a crackling static came out of the receiver. Charlie furrowed her eyebrows and listened carefully as voices manage to penetrate that layer of heavy interference. Whoever seemed to be talking was listing a bunch of numbers which were absolutely meaningless and Stiles, noticing her confusion, began to translate.

"Seems pretty quiet—that's a noise complaint," he murmured after someone listed a 134. "The next one's petty vandalism. That's a cat stuck up a tree."

"Stop messing around, Stiles. That's the fire department's job."

"Who's messing around?" he demanded, a slight smirk forming. "The police department here can multitask." And then the scanner crackled to life again, making the smirk drop from his face.

"There's a possible 187 right off of Ridgecrest and Sycamore. Requesting backup."

Stiles just stared at the scanner before slowly looking up at Charlie. His eyes were wide with a fear that she had never seen before—not even when they were caught in the school together. But just because she had never seen him wear it before didn't mean she didn't recognize it. He was worried about his dad. Stiles cleared his throat and open and closed his mouth a few times. "Th—that's a murder. My dad's gonna show up for that—my dad's gonna be there."

"Go," Charlie said immediately. "You go to the crime scene. Seriously, do whatever you need to do. I'll go and find Derek."

"Y—you can't go alone," he stammered waving a hand in the distance. "It's too dangerous, there's too much stuff going on—"

"Stiles, stop," she said, pressing a hand against his chest and making him fall silent. "I'll be fine. And he's your dad. I think we both know what that means."

She looked at him poignantly and something changed in his face—something she couldn't quite describe. His eyes bored into hers in a way that made her fidget, but she still gave him a single, reassuring nod. Apparently she had made her case well enough and Stiles was desperate enough to let her go on her own because he swallowed heavily and nodded. "Okay, but let's get some things straight. You get in trouble, you call me. Derek shows up, you call me. You stub your freaking toe, you call me. You get yourself knocked unconscious or killed—"

"My lifeless corpse will call you," Charlie deadpanned.

"Oh my God, that's so not funny," Stiles grumbled.

"Oh, come on, Stiles," she said with a roll of the eyes. "It was a little funny. Now get your ass back in the car. We have work to do."

What happened next, Charlie hadn't entirely expected. Stiles lunged forward and threw his arms around her, wrapping her in a tight hug before letting her go seemingly just as quickly. Without another word he hopped in the Jeep and revved the engine, sparing her one last look before taking off, sending bits of dirt and gravel spitting out from behind the tires. Charlie watched for a moment as the car screeched around the corner before sprinting to her Impala and climbing in the driver's seat. After stashing the flare gun in glove compartment, she shoved her keys in the ignition and peeled down the street, taking a right where Stiles had taken a left.

One good thing about living in a small town where people were being murdered at an alarming rate—there were never any traffic cops or speeding traps. You could go as fast as you wanted, whenever and wherever you wanted. Provided you didn't get into one of those horribly gruesome traffic accidents the local news shows all get so excited about. Charlie flew down the street, the accelerator pressed dangerously close to the floor of the car, keeping her eyes glued to the road. When she saw the turnoff to Derek's house, she slammed her foot on the brake, screeching almost to a complete halt before turning down the side road. Well, 'road' was kind of a generous characterization. It was more of a dirt path.

Charlie bumped around, being thrown about in her seat from all the rocks and tree roots that covered the path. This had better freaking not screw with the wheel alignment. The last thing she needed after this crappy week was to spend the weekend under her car. If the pattern brewing was accurate, this weekend was reserved for an entirely different werewolf affiliated disaster.

Pulling to a stop in front of Derek's house, a small chill swept through Charlie, making her shiver. It was the first time she had ever really seen the Hale house. Sure she had seen glimpses of that burnt out, decrepit building in the background, but it was blurred and difficult to make out. As she stood in front of it now, it was clear that not much else had changed in the past seven years or so. The windows were cracked or broken, the wood was splintered, and when she moved around the side, she could see that the majority of the roof was missing, crumbling into dust. The only parts of the building that seemed to remain intact were the stone columns that formed the foundations.

How many people had died in that house? Five? Ten? It baffled her how someone could come back to a place like that, living there with the ghosts of their family. She almost hadn't been able to set foot back in her and her dad's apartment and she had certainly never slept there again. She went in, packed up her things, and left. No wonder Derek was such a moody, broody guy. She would be too if she was living in a mausoleum.

Pushing those thoughts out of her mind, Charlie threw her car into park and grabbed her flare gun. She scrambled out of her car and moved so that she was standing directly in front of the house—the only area completely devoid of trees. "Okay, Oswin," she whispered to herself, "time to face the music." She raised the flare gun above her head and fired, sending the flare streaking into the sky, a trail of smoke and light travelling behind it. Charlie quickly loaded the second flare into the chamber and fired again. The last flare, though, she didn't fire, instead leaving it loaded in the chamber. It wasn't enough to do any lasting damage to a self-healing werewolf, but it would be enough of a surprise to allow an escape.

Charlie tilted her head back, straining her neck as she watched the flares ascend. When they reached the maximum height, she move over to her car and hopped on the hood. Now came the worst part. The waiting. The wondering whether or not her stupid, idiotic, half-assed plan with no reason for working might actually work. She sat on the hood, the flare gun in her hand, her knee bouncing up and down frantically as she waited.

This was creepy. That was one thing she hadn't thought about when coming out with the stupid, idiotic, half-assed plan. The Hale house was creepy, the woods were creepy, the moon was creepy, everything was just so entirely creepy. Charlie kept her eyes wide, allowing as much light in as possible, and they darted around frantically so that she could keep track of her surroundings. Then, all of the sudden, a man-shaped shadow appeared in her peripheral vision. Quickly, almost like it was a reflex, she cocked the flare gun and pointed it in that direction. The shadow didn't flinch. Instead the man took several small steps forward until she could make out the face of one Derek Hale. Exhaling sharply, she dropped the gun. "Would it kill you to make at least a little bit of noise," she grumbled. "You know, let people know before you sneak up on them so they don't shoot you."

"Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of sneaking up on them?" Derek demanded in that rough, gravelly voice of his. He folded his arms across his chest and shifted so that his feet were planted on the ground a little bit apart from each other, adopting that typical defensive posture. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," she replied, hopping up off her car.

"Do you have any idea how stupid that was?" he grumbled, inclining his head up at the flare. "You're basically screaming come and find me."

"That's exactly what I was doing," she replied. "Stupid? Yes. Effective? Seeing as you're standing in front of me, I'd say the answer to that is also yes."

Derek made his pouty, broody model look and furrowed his eyebrows together. "Why are you looking for me?"

Charlie sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Scott's loose. We had him locked up but….apparently the restraints weren't good enough. He really wasn't all that willing in the first place. Anyways he's out, he's homicidal, and there's nothing that I can do about it. This shit is way above my pay grade. And my upper body strength. That's where you come in."

Charlie was expecting some sort of scolding or criticism—a lot of the time it seemed like Derek's favorite thing to do was contradict them or tell them that they were being idiots. This time he just stroked his jaw and nodded. "The full moon is when the alpha has the most influence. If Scott attacks somebody, there's a good chance he will kill them."

"How do we find him?" Charlie asked immediately. "Can you track him? I don't have a sweatshirt of his or anything for you to smell—"

"I'll be fine," he replied in that same snappish tone.

"Okay," she replied with a nod. "Okay, I'll drive." She immediately moved towards the driver's side, but heard a skeptic cough, making her look up again. Derek was staring at her car with his eyebrows raised, making her roll her eyes in response. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's not a shiny black Camaro that makes it look like you're compensating for something. But you need to stay under the radar, remember?"

"I can track him faster on foot," Derek deadpanned.

Charlie let out a small snort and shook her head. "It's adorable that you think that."

"I can," Derek insisted in a threatening tone. "There are shortcuts that you can't take by car."

"That may be accurate," Charlie said, "but this is still faster. You've never seen me drive before. Now get in the damn car."

Derek eyed her with dangerous sort of suspicion, but she stood her ground, quirking an eyebrow up at him. Soon enough curiosity seemed to get the better of him and he walked towards the passenger's side door, opened it and slid inside. Charlie pumped a fist in the air in victory and clambered in after him. She threw her car into gear and slammed her foot down on the accelerator. The wheel spun in place for a moment before it found traction and the car shot forward, bumping down the dirt road. After shifting into the right gear, she shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out her phone, dialing Stiles's number. It only took about half a ring before he answered.

"Charlie?" a more than slightly panicked sounding voice said from the other end of the line. "Charlie, what's going on? Are you okay—you're okay, right?"

"Yes, Stiles, I'm fine," she responded. Then all of the sudden she felt a cold breeze and looked over at Derek. He had rolled down the passenger side window and was now sticking his head out, sniffing the air. "What the f—"

"Turn left here," he grunted.

Charlie dropped her phone in her lap and grabbed the wheel, violently shifting gears to and spinning the wheel so that the car practically jumped onto the paved road. All the while Stiles's voice was screaming out of the receiver of her phone. Sighing heavily, she picked it up again and pressed to her ear. "Jesus, Stiles, untwist your panties," she muttered in a monotone voice carefully designed to hide her anxiety and doing her best to focus on the road ahead. "I found Derek."

"You found him?" he demanded. "How is he? Is he—?"

"He's fine, I'm fine, everything's fine," Charlie said in as reassuring a voice possible. "Really it's all good and not important right now—"

"Not important?" Derek demanded incredulously. "Not important?"

"No, it's not," she hissed at Derek, pulling the phone away from her mouth for a second. "Stiles, where's your dad? Is he good—is everything—?"

"H—yeah," he sighed out in relief. "Yeah, he's fine. Totally fine. The 187—the murder—it happened yesterday. Yesterday night. At the campsite."

"Wha—the campsite—the one on Ridgecrest and Sycamore?" she demanded, suddenly feeling slightly more panicked. "Yesterday? Like when we were there yesterday?"

"Yup," he sighed out in that same voice he always made when he was rubbing at the back of his head in frustration. "Trippy, huh."

"Yeah, to say the least. But your dad's—"

"Give me that," Derek growled snatching the phone out of her hands and ignoring her protests. "Yeah, Charlie can't talk now. We're a bit busy making sure you're friend doesn't rip anybody's throat out." And with that he hung up the phone and tossed it aside. "Veer right up here," he said, gesturing at the road.

Charlie ground her teeth together, but didn't say anything. One thing was for sure. Derek Hale was a giant pain in the ass. Even when he was helping, he was a giant pain in the ass. But he was, in fact helping, so she kept her mouth shut. It was difficult seeing as it was something she did so infrequently, but she locked it all down. "It's about time one of you idiots actually brought me in," he growled under his breath. "I still can't believe at least one of you hasn't died yet."

A loud, involuntary scoff forced its way out of her mouth. "Is being a dick a side effect of the full moon, or is that just more of a preexisting condition for you?"

Derek's head snapped around and he looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"You know, maybe Scott and Stiles would let you in on more if you stopped being such a moody, stoic tool," she barreled on. She glanced over at Derek, only to find him still staring at her in disbelief. She rolled her eyes and focused back on the road. "Seriously, man, if you want an in you've got to get them to trust you. And right now they still seem pretty on the fence."

"Then why did you call me in?" he replied angrily.

"Because I'm a big fan of accurate self-assessment," she replied simply. "And the accurate assessment of other people. I know what I'm capable of, and this shit is beyond me. So I called you in. And I know that you're not going to hurt us, the same way I know Kate Argent is a bag of crazy and that Bert and Ernie were gay. So stop talking to me like I'm a kid. I know what I'm doing. And I realize that that's the kind of cliché thing all the kids say when they don't knoe what they're doing, but this time it happens to be true."

Derek grunted and turned to face the road ahead. "You don't want to be underestimated."

"Oh, I'm fine with being underestimated," Charlie contradicted. "In fact I usually prefer to be underestimated—its better when people don't know what you're capable of, that way you can sneak up on them and kick their ass. But I get the feeling that the two of us and Stiles and Scott are going to end up in a couple of situations like this one in the future, and in order to actually help each other, we need to know what the hell's going on. Hence your need to get over some latent trust issues."

Derek didn't say anything, but gave her a strange look, making her fidget under his gaze. And, as she usually did whenever she found herself in a conversation with Derek, she slipped into an awkward silence. Meaning she would do the same thing she always did when she was uncomfortable. She talked. A lot.

"Look, you don't have to like me," she barreled on. "You wouldn't exactly be alone in that club, that's for sure. But we need to be able to work together if we're going to get anywhere."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Derek grumbled.

"I'm not sure," Charlie replied. "Mel tells me that I quote Monty Python movies in my sleep, but I don't think I believe her."

"Well why don't you try." It was more of a statement than a question, and Charlie, fighting back her more idiotic impulses, snapped her mouth shut. The rest of the car ride, as short as it was, was completely silent. Well, unless Trollish counted what with the pointing and grunting to indicate directions. Left, right, left, left, right—the jerky movements of the car made her feel like she was playing a live action game of Mario Cart. As she drove, her anxiety mounted and her hands tightened more and more on the steering wheel making the moves of the car even more abrupt than they would have been otherwise.

"What do you think he's going to do?" Charlie murmured, glancing at Derek out of the corner of her eye, causing him to sigh loudly and roll his.

"I thought you were trying not to talk."

"Yeah, apparently that's not going to work out so well," she muttered. "Suspense is fantastic when you're watching TV, but in real life it kind of sucks." She shot him a pleading look. "Please, tell me what you think is going to happen."

Derek's jaw twitched in frustration and he returned to the moody silence. Charlie let out a sigh and nodded. She understood the situation. Time to give up. There really wasn't any point in trying to wrest information from somebody who was less talkative than a freaking stone statue. And then the strangest thing happened. The statue spoke.

"Last time I found him he was going after Allison," Derek said simply. "He'll probably do the same thing again. And this time he'll probably try and kill her."

For once, Charlie found herself without words. Instead she pushed down harder on the accelerator and let the car pick up speed. Derek freaking Hal and his freaking truth bombs. She had asked for an honest answer, and he had given it, but would it have killed him to dress it up a bit? To lay off the doom and gloom for about half a second? Actually, given the expression that was perpetually on his face, it might.

"That parking lot," Derek said suddenly. Charlie slammed on the brakes and spun the steering wheel around. The tire screeched against the asphalt, sending smoke into the air and leaving black streaks behind. The acrid smell of burning rubber only just reached her nose before the car shot forwards again, into the parking lot.

"Stop," Derek ordered. The car came to a lurching halt so violent Charlie probably would have collided with the window shield if she hadn't been wearing her seatbelt. As soon as the car came to a halt, Derek unbuckled his seatbelt and disappeared out the door, only to reappear at her window moments later. "Stay. In. The. Car."

Charlie hadn't ever intended to leave the car, but any hint of regret she might have felt for staying put was completely erased when Derek's face began to change. Cheekbones became raised and more angular, hair began to sprout from his jaw, teeth sharpened into fangs, and possibly most troubling of all, the once brown eyes turned a cruel, icy blue. Charlie swallowed heavily and nodded in understanding, trying her level best not to freak out. All the knowledge in the world can't ever prepare you for being confronted with the real thing. And the real thing was kind of terrifying. Leaving her with that image, Derek took off at a dead sprint. Charlie narrowed her eyes and peeked out the window after him, pressing her face so close to the glass that it fogged with the steam of her breath. That's when she saw it.

On the other side of the parking lot, Charlie could just make out the figures of two people sitting in a parked car. Jackson's car. Jackson's car with Allison in it. Shit. This was very, very not good. Scott was insecure enough about the two of them to begin with. Add in the full moon—it was pretty much a recipe for disaster. She swore under her breath and reached for the door handle to go and warn them, but before she could, another figure appeared. Only this one wasn't quite human.

It started out as more of a blur than anything else—a shadow darting between the cars. But then it jumped up, sailing through the air before coming to a stop on top of Allison's car. It was too far away and too dark for her to see details, but she could see the contours of the figure silhouetted against the bright full moon and fluorescent street lamps—the shape of a man contorted into the stance of an animal. The animal—Scott—brought his hand up, about to slam it down and rip through the roof of the car. Charlie felt her throat close up, like she was about to choke on her panic, and threw the driver's side door open, almost falling to the ground in a futile and utterly hopeless effort to get to them first. Then all of the sudden another giant blur hurtled towards the car, knocking the first away and tumbling over the side of a nearby embankment and into the woods.

Even though she hadn't taken a breath in what felt like minutes, Charlie exhaled, a seemingly unending stream of air coursing out of her body. It was like she was a balloon that had just been popped—completely exhausted and deflated. She collapsed against the Impala, using the cold metal for stability. "You did good, girl," she murmured, patting it fondly. "You still always take care of me."

More waiting—that was what came next. That was the bad part about being logistics and backup, about being the so-called 'brains of the operation'. You weren't around when the limbs were carrying everything out. Jesus, that sounded douchey. The limbs? Was she referring to Derek as a 'limb'? That metaphor took a really patronizing-sounding turn, one that she didn't intend for it to have at all. But she was tired of having to hold her breath and hope that everything ended up alright. She wanted to be there to make sure everything went alright, not sitting on the sidelines.

Allison and Jackson drove off moments after Scott's attack, leaving her completely alone in the abandoned in the parking lot. For some reason it made everything else a lot louder. The wind that usually whispered started to howl and the cracking of a twig echoed with the force of an avalanche. Charlie perched on the hood of the car again and drew her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and perching her chin on her knees. After what felt like an eternity, she heard the sound of something else—something more than a cracking twig.

Charlie jumped up off her car and spun in the direction of the noise. In the distance she saw two others approaching, one standing straight and dragging another limp figure. She took several small steps in their direction. "Derek?"

There was no answer. Instead the two figures got closer and closer until her eyes could focus enough to make the features out. It was Derek—his features having returned to normal—and Scott who was being dragged along behind him, one arm slung over Derek's shoulder. Charlie darted forwards and grabbed Scott's other arm, dragging it over her shoulder to help.

"I thought I told you to stay in the car," Derek spat bitterly as the hauled Scott's crumpled form.

"Yeah, well I stayed near the car," she grumbled back. "That's pretty much the best you get with me."

Then Scott's voice piped up, weakened and suppliant. "Charlie….Charlie, I'm—"

"Save your strength, Scott," she murmured under her breath, reaching for the door to the back seat and wrenching it open so they could shove him inside. "Sleep it off. Maybe everybody will forget in the morning."

A dejected expression formed on that face that was capable of far too much sincerity, but Charlie did her best to ignore it. Instead she just climbed back into the driver's seat and took off back down the road in the direction of Scott's house. Derek must have been happy with the car ride. The sheer amount of awkward cracking in the air was enough to keep everybody silent the entire way. When they finally got to Scott's house, Derek immediately got up to help Scott out of the back, but Charlie stayed seated. "Go ahead and get him inside," she said when Derek shot her a questioning look. "I'll be in right after you. I've just got to make a call first."

Derek rolled his eyes and Scott showed her one of those plaintive, sad puppy looks, but she gritted her teeth and stayed put as the two of them made their way into the house. Taking a deep breath, she looked around the car to find where exactly Derek had chucked her phone after he had so rudely interrupted her conversation with Stiles. Eventually she found it under the back seat, and immediately punched in Stiles's number.

"It's over," she said as soon as she heard the tell-tale click of someone picking up. "It's done."

"Y—you found Scott?" Stiles stammered out, relief coloring his tone.

"Well technically Derek found him," she sighed out, scratching at her forehead. "I chauffeured."

"How was he—was he still—"

"A jagweed douche?" Charlie supplied. "No, he seemed pretty much normal. There was a sticky bit where he tried to kill Allison and Jackson, but—"

"He WHAT?!"

"But it's _over_ now," she insisted, trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him. "No homicides, no nothing. Scott's back to being Scott."

"Well what did he say?" Stiles pried, asking questions faster than she could answer them.

"Nothing, really," Charlie replied with a shrug. "He tried to apologize and I told him to shove it. I think I'm gonna let him sweat it out for about ten more minutes before I tell him to forget about it. That should be enough torture I think. The guy does dabble pretty heavily in the wallowing." A silence fell over the two of them, leaving only the soft crackling of the phone in her ear. She bit down on her lip and pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at it for a moment. "Stiles, it's okay, right? We're all okay—you, me, Scott, your dad. You can feel relieved now."

"I guess so," Stiles said with an uncomfortable laugh.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," she said. The sentence sounded more like a question than a statement. It just felt like such a weird way to end the night, especially after everything they had been through. Just throwing out a 'see ya later' on the phone and letting that be that.

"Sure," Stiles shot back in an oddly chirpy voice. "Tomorrow."

"Okay, then," she murmured. But then, just as she was about to hang up, she heard his voice again.

"Charlie?" he mumbled in an uncertain tone.

"Yeah?"

She was met with another short silence. "Right, um….noth—nothing. I'll see you tomorrow."

After hitting the 'end' button on her phone, Charlie took a deep, steadying breath and got out of the car, making her way to Scott's door. Remembering the blood streaks staining the floor, she stopped by the kitchen to grab a wad of paper towels and some industrial strength cleaning solution before trudging back up the steps. Her pace became even slower as she approached Scott's room, listening carefully to the voices emanating from within.

"—the truth," she heard Scott say pleadingly. "Is there a cure?"

Derek paused for a moment before answering, and Charlie paused outside the door, just out of their line of vision. She bit down on her lip and leaned her head against the wall. This was a big question. Hopefully it would have an accommodating answer.

"For someone who was bitten?" Derek asked hesitantly. "I've heard of one—I don't know if it's true."

"Well what is it?" Scott demanded.

"You have to kill the one that bit you."

Shit. Any small bit of hope Scott might have had there must have just evaporated. Not only was the alpha terrifyingly strong, but they still had no idea who he was. Scott must have agreed, because he exhaled sharply.

"Scott," Derek's voice broke in again. "If you help me find him, I'll help you kill him."

Charlie rolled against the surface of the wall until she found herself in the doorway leaning against the frame, revealing Scott sitting on the bed with his head in his hands and Derek looming over him. "I'll help too."

Scott's head snapped up and blinked at her, confusion written across his face. "Y—you will?"

Charlie let out a theatrical scoff and rolled her eyes before crouching down next to the radiator and wiping up the remaining traces of blood. "And miss out on all the fun?" she chirped, peeking up at him through the curtain of hair concealing her face. "Why would I want to go and do something like that?"

Scott exhaled sharply again, but this time in wasn't out of despair or frustration. It was out of relief. He stood up and took a step in her direction, but then stopped suddenly, as if he was uncertain. "Charlie, I'm so, so sorry," he said earnestly. "I really—I didn't mean any of it. Those things I said. N—none of it's true. All that stuff about being broken—it was just the full moon—"

"Yes it was," Charlie interrupted, making falter. Charlie shot him a genuine smile, trying to give him a little reassurance. "The full moon dick version of Scott was right. I am a bit broken. But just because I'm broken, doesn't mean I'm fragile. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself." She stood up and tossed the bloodied paper towels in a nearby trash can before finally turning to face him fully. "It's okay, Scott," she insisted. "Seriously, we're good."

"Really?" he asked, his voice rasping slightly.

Charlie pressed her lips together in a thin line and nodded. And then to dispel any doubts, she stepped forwards and wrapped her arms around him in an awkward hug. It took a little while for him to hug her back, but eventually he hugged her in return. "Okay," she murmured, patting him hard on the back. "That's enough of that." She pulled back and smiled at him again. "It'll all turn out alright in the end, Scott. And if it's not alright, it's not the end." Punching him in the shoulder, she took a couple of steps back. "I'm going to head home," she said, jerking her thumb in the direction of the door. "You guys can sort out all your wolf-related business—I'll satisfy myself with the recap. And Scott….you should probably give Stiles a call."

She turned to move out the door, but before she could make it, Scott called again. "Charlie?" She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him, drumming her fingers against the doorframe. Scott took another few steps towards her, staring at her with those giant, puppy dog eyes of his. "Thank you. And again, I am so, so sorry."

Charlie shot him a light-hearted smirk and gave him a salute before disappearing through the door.

By the time Charlie made it back home, it was only 10:36 p.m. For some reason that seemed totally ridiculous to her. Part of her had expected some big confrontation—that she would arrive home, open the front door, and find Mel sitting on the couch with her 'mom' look and demanding to know where she had been. Instead, she found an empty house, exactly the same as she had left it, completely quiet and still.

Sighing heavily, Charlie chucked her bag on the ground and dropped her keys in the usual bowl. She jogged upstairs and immediately changed into her sweat pants and her worn Doctor Who 'The Angels Have The Phonebox' T-shirt before making a beeline for the refrigerator. Ice cream. A day like this one necessitated ice cream. And chocolate. And probably a little bit of alcohol. One thing was for sure. She probably wasn't going to be sleeping tonight. So instead she grabbed her well-worn copy of 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' and perched herself on one of the kitchen island stools. She was reading for a bit over half an hour, when all of the sudden the doorbell rang.

Frowning slightly, she snapped the book shut and hopped to her feet, padding towards the front door. It was way too late for anybody to drop by on a casual visit. "Mel?" she inquired carefully. "Did you forget your keys or something?"

"Uh, n—no," a distinctly male disembodied voice stammered out from behind the door. "No it's not."

Charlie's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Stiles?" She quickly reached for the deadbolt and unlatched it, yanking the door open to reveal the boy standing there, rubbing at the back of his head with his mouth hanging open slightly. Overall he had the appearance of somebody who had no idea what he was doing there. "Hey," she murmured, looking at him curiously. "What's up?"

"H—hey, Charlie," he said with an awkward wave. "How's it going? Well, I'm pretty sure I know how it's going with all the stuff that's been happening and the fact that I was there for most of it but—yeah. I just….kinda wanted to make sure you were okay."

"O—okay," Charlie murmured, her confusion mounting. "I'm fine. Thank you. But, uh, but you didn't have to come all the way over here. You could have just called—you really didn't have to go through the trouble."

"Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaahhhh," he drawled out, scrunching up his face in a way that made it look like he was mentally berating himself. "Yeah, that…that would probably have made more sense. But thing is I sorta needed to actually _see_ that you were okay. Like a—like a visual confirmation type thing. So—" he gestured up and down her body "—visually confirmed. You're okay."

Stiles planted his hands on his hips and nodded in her direction, but a supremely self-conscious look crossed his face. For some reason it made a small smile tug at the corner of her lips. Still flustered, Stiles rolled his eyes at himself. "Me coming here is a bit weird, isn't it?"

"Nah," Charlie replied, shaking her head. "It's sweet."

"Well that's good," Stiles said with a relieved sigh. "I'm pretty sure the only alternative is creepy, so that works out okay for me." Again they were left there standing in silence, just kind of staring at each other. And the weirdest part was it didn't feel weird all that weird. It was strange how comfortable they had gotten with each other lately. How long had it been since she had been let in on the furry little secret? Less than a week and a half? Charlie wasn't somebody who trusted very easily, and she was pretty sure she trusted Stiles. And the fact that all that had happened in a week and a half….well that was weird. But all those years of moving around, and even with Allison and Lydia, Charlie never really felt like someone had her back. But she was pretty sure Stiles did. That was a new feeling.

"Right, so it's getting pretty late," Stiles said, holding up his wrist to look at a watch that didn't exist. He looked up at her and pointed over to where his Jeep was parked. "I should probably—yep, I'm just gonna—"

Charlie smiled and nodded in understanding. Stiles shot her two thumbs up and slowly spun around, marching off towards his car. Charlie stayed standing at the doorframe, watching silently as Stiles climbed back into his Jeep, giving him a wave as he drove off before returning inside. As she closed the door, she slammed her forehead against the surface of the door. What a freaking night.

Slowly, Charlie made her way back to the kitchen so she could get back to the melting bowl of ice cream soup and her book. She stayed there until she heard the familiar jangling of keys and the sound of a door being unlocked.

"Charlie?" Mel's voice echoed through the entryway. "Are you still awake?"

"Over here!" she called out.

The sound of heels clacking against the floor grew louder as Mel approached the kitchen. She stuck her head through the doorway. Even from that distance, Charlie could see the exhaustion written on her face. "It's past midnight," Mel murmured, removing her shoes. "It's a school night, you shouldn't be up."

"I wanted to wait for you," Charlie replied. "You know, actually see you for some portion of the evening. There's lasagna in the fridge by the way."

"Oh, thank God!" Mel exclaimed happily. She practically ran to the fridge to get at the food, moving as fast as her pencil skirt would allow. "So," she called out over her shoulder. "Did anything interesting happen today?"

Charlie let out a snort and shook her head. "Nope. Just more of the same."

**Alright, so there it is. I know Charlie and Derek still seem like they hate each other, but their relationship I want to build from mutual annoyance to mutual respect to weird pseudo-friendship. We're still between steps one and two there.**

**Anyways, please review! The support always makes me feel so happy and 400 reviews would totally blow my mind! In the best possible way. Love you guys!**

**Oh, and there's a Supernatural reference thrown in if you can spot it.**


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